Of Fall
She speaks like night through telephones
In semaphores&transitory whispers
Inhabiting her angel bones
Like Autumn leaves turning hidden corners
Where no one will remember when
The words were written that remain unsaid
'Til time to close the windows then
Before it gets too cold, I am afraid
Poetry by Chaucer Whethers
Read 240 times
Written on 2023-10-27 at 15:48
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