Cold Grey Day Poem by Gary Jacobson
Cold Grey Day
Crackling, rustling in the wind
The creeking fence that has stood for many years
The slow rolling of the hills as they disappear
The cold sun stills the earth's frustrations
The sharp barbed wire stings the tender flesh
The tall withering trees are ready to fall
The little ground hogs run from the whistling wind.
Wednesday, March 1, 2017
Topic(s) of this poem: autumn
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3/13/2026 1:33:20 AM # 1.0.0
