Friday, November 19, 2010

Fall Breakfast

The omelette sunrise soaks
fall-toasted fields in golden yolk.
Geese vees move above trees
and chimney smoke.

Let's bring our slippered feet,
our steaming mugs of whetted heat,
out to the wind-chilled wicker.
Let's take a seat.

And feast.
at

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To Mom

Who would have thought, when years had passed,  and you had left this world for good, I'd find such comfort remembering the way it felt ...