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Terminal Advent PDF Print E-mail
Written by The Presbyterian Outlook   
Thursday, 17 December 2009 15:57
Out there,

More than maple leaves

        fall—

burnt red,

beneath graying skies,

        winter’s dread.

 

Downward  life drifts,

        languid,

hope’s empty hand

bequeaths nothing

        to the dead.

 

In here,

More than old-house

         creaks—

as cold breeze

through cracked pane

kisses my face,        

         alters my bed.

 
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