Living on a Sunny Lane

This poem appeared this week in Two Drops of Ink. 

"November Poem"

The crisp brown swamp grasses are glowing

in the wetland.

The grass is still green despite the

sheen of white frost this morning.

We are between autumn and winter

in that uncomfortable place

where everything is dying.

Yesterday I tore up piles of limp yellow hosta and

stiff black bee balm stems and peony and bleeding heart.

How quickly their time passed.

As I sit here, I know that all comes alive just to die.

I look longingly at photos of chubby-cheeked babies

and earlier versions of myself.

But I don’t land there except for a glance.

Don’t think for a moment I am

going to lead you down some

depressing

alley way of words.

Find the whole poem at Two Drops of Ink, a fabulous on-line writers' blog.