Although the forest was light
or at least, light enough,
he remained in the shadows, black
black, he was,
and sober as a grave
all stillness and breathlessly slack
the leaves beneath
his well worn shoes
were dark and damp and cold
for the season had changed
without and within
and he was tired down deep in his soul
Tuesday, October 27, 2020
For The Season Had Changed
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A Cousin to the Sycamore
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