Another frosty morning,
and my dreams are wading
through lofty mist. Awake
grey day, another iced
morn as you sleep beside me.
Birds’ song long flown
on thread-bare branches,
and perhaps, just maybe
I should have done the same.
And I stare with silver shivers
at Mother Nature’s New Clothes.
Marilyn 'Misky' Braendeholm lives in the UK surrounded by flowers, grapevines, bubbling pots of sourdough starter, bottles of fermenting vinegar, a Springer Spaniel, and a small camera that she keeps in her pocket. She never buys clothing without pockets.
Misky’s poetry and flash fiction are at http://miskmask.wordpress.com and Misky Cooks at http://miskcooks.com
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