On this the last day of 2022, we spin or sweep away that


silver threaded web



secretly each autumn fades
to wanton forgetfulness
turning into a pale canvas
faint with birdcalls wanting warmth
withheld in fogged looking glass
where it shines less appealing
wan shadows upon our face
revealing grace fine as lace






Poetry by arquious The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 159 times
Written on 2022-12-31 at 11:39

Tags Galateus  Crypticbard  Arquious 

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