November Night
by Adelaide Crapsey
Listen. .
With faint dry sound,
Like steps of passing ghosts,
The leaves, frost-crisp'd,
break from the trees
And fall.
With faint dry sound,
Like steps of passing ghosts,
The leaves, frost-crisp'd,
break from the trees
And fall.
2 comments:
You Muse you ! That was great. Thanks for your lovely contribution to Muse Day.
I like the poem, Muum, and also like the photo - those silvery blue conifers look appropriately ghostly.
Annie at the Transplantable Rose
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