Wednesday, November 24, 2010

Morning Coffee

Low light on frigid peaks near and far.
Snow highlights unmoving heads of spruce
solid frozen mid November’s premature death.
Last gasp of the river escapes in a ghostly
blanket under shortened sun.
I shiver inside, robed and slippered
grasp the cup
drink your words

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

I especially like the "grasp the cup" idea in this poem. Instead of coffee I am enjoying my cuppa tea.