WriteMe
A catalogue of the writer's thoughts - particularly those more organized, relevant, and creative.
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
A ghostly bridge twixt heaven and me.
The tree stood alone -
the last clothed among her neighbors.
Her pale amber leaves captured
and reflected
the thin winter sun;
she stood in a private golden cloud,
shivering delicately,
leaves like shining scales flaking off
one by one.
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