Steaming in the cold
morning air, my breath
rises slowly, crystallized
molecules mixing with the twisted
plumes of chimney smoke
that drift softly above
the wasting branches.
“Let all men’s dying hearts
cease today.”
with frost, hushing
the emerald moss
that flows over plundered
limestone, brittle and dispirited-
sloping desperately towards a sea
of trampled brown grasses.
“Let them lay down and
become one with my brethren.”
of sodden leaves
and the unforgiving soil,
a grieving skeleton
swings softly in the dawn light,
mourning silently for one last touch
of the waning autumn sun.
“Let their final breath escape lips
pressed gently to my sobbing breast.“
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