The yew tree’s dense needles
are no match for that January glow
it lasts just a moment
look up at the cold sun
pulling itself above the horizon
in the dream of a bird
in the midst of flight
in an instant
gone.
musing – dreaming – writing
The yew tree’s dense needles
are no match for that January glow
it lasts just a moment
look up at the cold sun
pulling itself above the horizon
in the dream of a bird
in the midst of flight
in an instant
gone.