A warm yellow moon
Melted a hole in frozen sky
It hung between shifting rivers
Of darkness; suspended
Striated ripples of snow cloud
Blanket the lampshade light;
Pray the bulb doesn’t slip
To shatter the icicle night
Trees crouch low;
Old age on their backs
Crystal white hair
And heavy hearts
Full of cold sorrow
Tonight they hold dreams
Of youth; compromising truth
But In the sun
Their arms will be become
Empty tomorrow
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