Life With Horace

poetry & essays

shadow woods

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frost painting echo trees
on woods facing windows
in the coldest
days and nights
of the dark months
the panes must be calling
siren like, their remnant
grains of earth
almost alive once more,
or is it that trees hear
the windows sigh
and send their shadow shapes
to be as one?

Author: Life With Horace

Poetry & Essays

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