All Thoughts Be Them Gentle

Without pride the first of snow arrives.

And, for the briefest of moments…

All thoughts.

All gentle.


Clowning of cows

disrespecting a hard frost with their snowy beds.

Somewhere a cornstalk, brazen and brown.

Not quite ready to give in.

With a walking stick made for greener days.

I, too, bed down with primitive sin.

Until the land perpetuates…







Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.