The warm months dwindle.
The sunsets earlier as I sweep the bush for kindling.
Full moon week alittle warmth is gathered.
In the fields and crop rows before harvest.
Winter´s a foot, looming.
Shadows will engulf us soon.
Prepare a warm house for the cold...
For so much comfort last years dreary months stole.
The solstice declares itself sharp and frigid.
Cool morns numb us and not a creature fidgets.
Nenhum comentário:
Postar um comentário