Near Winter

by Kerry-ann Mansford
(UK)

Braced,
against
a solemn breeze,
her hands
caught,
in a raven stream,
she pulled
and plucked
her foliage,
bare,
tumbling adrift,
the fallen leaves

Stark branched,
and withered dark,
the crimson hours fled,
and copper days
floated faint,
frosting
golden years,
forgotten,
now
gathered by her knees.
Once
upon her palm,
each,
a thought,
a memory
that fired,
now scattered,
scattering

He watched,
beyond the pane,
her desiccating need,
waiting inside hope,
for new leaves to bloom

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