Wrapped in darkness
Perpetual stars shine,
Invisible as if extinguished
Like an omen of doom.
Then dawn.

Leaves have vanished
From frames that held beans
And now drape tendrils
On the breeze.
The sun glistens an apology
For Autumn’s chill.

Verdant grass flickers hope
For a mild winter.
Summer voices are silent,
But a harvest was reaped
Beneath our window from
Abandoned structures.

The street is empty
Of children.
A white light blazes through
Black branches where a
Crow’s nest, three years old
Scribbles circles on the sky.

The mist pearled glass
Spells our names with the
Year soon ending.
Entwined as we are in its
Passing with hope that
Next Spring will produce
Stars as an omen of splendour.


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