November 24, 2011

Reaping The Harvest

Winter is knocking at the door
Ants are busy gathering the last crumbs of the mad summer
The frogs have mated and are digging now for hibernation

In search of a home...they are now
The gathered honey and wax
The years harvest to be locked inside  hearts
To peep  through the furrows at the meek daylight

Or the cold cold breeze
Drying the concrete
Scratching the frail skin
On bitter cold mornings

Reaping the harvest now
A dead telephone
An empty mailbox
And a frayed blanket

To sleep alone.....