Falling Plum Poetry
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
the smell of crisp, dry leaves burning
the numbness of limbs out too long in the cold, cheeks flushed red--
unnoticed until hours later
and everyone else has gone inside
in search of hot chocolate and warm soup
No comments:
Post a Comment
Newer Post
Older Post
Home
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
Poems © Gemma W. Wilson
No comments:
Post a Comment