L'aura del Campo

Pink [287]

Pink

A frosted glow upon cold-frosted pine,
the golden birch now naked.

White-november news.

And the smells of baking rye,
the taste of coffee by-the-pot,
the constant purr of cat.

All noise hushed by snow.

You aren't here,
no loving touch.
Today dims grey
and slush adorns
the weeping willow.

Catclaws remind
it's time to wake up,
time to move on
to another.

© Kåre Enga (1.noviembre.2017) [174.287]

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