Sherry Chandler » Charles M. Whitt
Charles M. Whitt
WINTER COMES
Rain was a cold mist slanting across fields,
And driving like nails into woods reluctant
To give up their summer’s work.
But I knew it was winter’s breath commanding;
The trees would soon be beaten;
They would hide in their dormancy
As the gray, old father had his way.
Winter comes to strip the land;
Leaving it naked and crying;
Shivering in pain.
Winter comes to worry the land
To steal its bounty,
And make it old.
—Charles M. Whitt
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1 Comment
1. Poppysmatus replies at 10th November 2007, 8:08 am :
Kroger has a special on pomegranates today so all prospective Proserpines should hurry on down to their local stores & stock up for your coming sojourns.
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