At a sudden sound my daughter asks, What is that?
convinced there is someone in the back garden;
but there is no one, only death standing in the tall snow
watching me through the window or perhaps,
perhaps, the house plant whose leaves are already
a little dusty and turning inwards.
A little dusty and turning inwards [#56]
© 2010 Fammerée
* * * * *
Richard Fammerée
fammeree.com
fammeree@att.net
director@universeofpoetry.org
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