Leave then, leave
If you must
Over a carpet
Of first-snow dust
Over the skyline
To bygones beyond
Over the quiet
Of platinum ponds
Over the slumbering
Wild-bloom in the earth
Over the platoon
Of June’s frozen mirth
Over the farmer
Who smiles as he sleeps
Over the woodland
Where stripped willow weeps
Over the moments
That ceaselessly rush
Over the meadow
Of full moon flush
Leave then, November
Leave if you will
Winter is treading
The sky with its chill
© Janet Martin
A re-vamped version of Over...written for July
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I hope you enjoyed your pause on this porch and thank-you for your visit!