Last Ghosts Of Autumn

The threadbare weave of winter
comes after the last leaf of autumn
has only barely touched the ground.
A chill that inherits the air
tells of the new season around.
The last ghosts of autumn
linger as if in a dream
before winter’s blanket
shrouds all to hide the ground.

28 September 2o11

poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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