LOVELY OLD CRONES
live across the creek
appearing only in Winter,
when their clothes have fallen round their knees
and they become naked, all.
into the leafy loam;
planted firmly on the edge, their boots
have found a home
Refractured light of winter’s day
reveals translucent bones;
brittle, broken by decay
I hear their silent groans.
Glory gone and faded now
their youth renewed in Spring
verdant leaves will return some how
since they’ve made this offering.
S.M. Conner
11/14/11
Thinking of Mother, and remembering.
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