poetry & things

Roses withered

Water trickling, grooved patterns of bark

darkening drinking up

Bright yellow creeping

maple leaves losing green

fallen or hanging on

A wind gust

little rush of swirls

tiny leaves come to rest –

wakes the nightjar

from her evening nest

Wet wings, flickers fly

stellar jay looks on,

Roses withered, ages gone

petals on the

ground

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