• Tim Dwyer

First of December


FIRST OF DECEMBER

True morning frost,

minus Celsius.

Maples and oaks are bare,

evergreens return to the fore.

Through the windshield,

light from a cloudless sky,

warm golden tones.

My beloved drives away.

Near evening she will return.

Cosmos flowers in the garden,

planted in early Autumn,

will bear the frost

one more day.

Living comes along

when time is nearly done.


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