Play in the sun
Chasing through
The woods while
Cooper Beech decorate
The barren spaces, once
Green in delight.
I hear the buzz of a saw
Cutting the branches of
A fallen tree...an oak, I see.
December in its last days
With its for-get-me not
Sighs of good-bye,
And its pale blue sky telling
No secrets...
Wait and see, it whispers.
Dorothy Alves Holmes
A Poet Who Loves To Sing
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