by Laury A. Egan
I sit, watching, as the snow opts for disguise
as it tips the tops of the gray stockade fence,
painting white fingers on its pointed posts;
watching as the pearl-gray sky dims with
the shade of evening.
by Laury A. Egan
I sit, watching, as the snow opts for disguise
as it tips the tops of the gray stockade fence,
painting white fingers on its pointed posts;
watching as the pearl-gray sky dims with
the shade of evening.