Outside by the windowpane,
branches claw and scrape the glass.
Windswept blooms collapse and fall
to grass gone brown.

Sparrows perch upon a limb
and chirp, their songs
pitched higher than yesterday.

Green leaves husk with yellow tips.
Sunset’s coming early,
and you stand here with me
in a wheatgrass field.

Published in: on September 28, 2010 at 7:38 pm  Leave a Comment  
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