- 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.