The Sparrows’ Song

The sparrows flitAmidst autumn grovesOf ash and of oak.Their songs slipLike a gossamer breezeThrough the branches,Whose outstretched armsEmbrace the tuneWith rosy fingers splayed. Beneath the boughs,On a bed of moss,I drift into reverie.The shade is thick,The leaves fall,And the sparrows sing on. I listen with one ear perkedAnd another nestled in dirt.Sleep will take me.Winter... Continue Reading →

My Fingers Sleep Alone

The calloused tips Of my fingers Have collapsed into a numb Sleep after years crumpled Into a fist. Cold As the bones beneath, They fumble Like a child blind In the dark, Reaching for a familiar touch. They find Nothing. Senseless, Even to each other, They shiver In a row In the sun. The pen... Continue Reading →

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