By Thomas Page

 

The hues of winter

Like a forgotten photo

Are rich in mem’ry.

 

The orang’d leaves, champions

of Autumn, remain strong on

Hibernating trees.

 

The frozen pond like

The artisan’s glass imbued

With imperfections.

 

Time gushes like a

Wound while traffic like white blood

Cells clot up cars.

 

The birds seek refuge

On perch of birdfeeders

Feet above the snow.

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