|
saplings
wet leaves fall from limbs that claw the chilly winds of autumn
the gray wooden house silently decays among the saplings almost forgotten
on my path I can see the water barrel and the old car, it silently rusts
the windows are cloudy and broken and the dashboard gathers dust.
The magpie heckles from the shovel leaning against the door.
the forest swallows the home that shelters no one anymore.
|
