A Poem of the Night
A poem
is a thought
of flowers
near frost,
dangling stiff,
bitten by
the vampire teeth
of late fall,
hanging desolate
near dusk
from a pot
on a patio porch
a yellow light
bulb beaming
conspicuously outward
over chilled yellow
green glazed grass.
Snow now, the Aster
deep purple,
falls last.
Author: Michael Lee Johnson
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