Late Autumn

The Bard of Liminga

Dirt path
bent ’round alders standing in water
under a wintery sky.

Border collie
and rusty wagon wheel.

Pale green lichen
on thin steel
subsumed in aspens.

Bare limbs
in a lonely tangle
scratch at the clouds.

Two trees
stand apart
in a field of emptiness

like two poets
nearly touching.

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About Ray Sharp

Father, poet, triathlete, local public health planner
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