For Alice Ripley

The stand of trees

are thinner now. And

the winds now whistle

through where once they

were barred. The leaves

rustle with each passing,

falling onto the ground.

And when the weather

changes, shelter is hard

to find now for

those seeking it. Time

to sing the dirge.

 

© 2017 L. Tafa

 

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Author: b20f08

I enjoy solo wargaming and writing. The first caters to the boy that never grew up; the latter satisfies a deep desire to communicate. Cheers.

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