fall poetry

there is no flock, however watched and tended
brother, i am fire
the smell of the rose so false, the thorns so true
when the wind works against us in the dark
the sun is up
rose and amber was the sunset on the river
long ago, in the young moonlight
which i wish to remark
who is the runner in the skies
among the smoke and fog of a december afternoon
shades of night were falling fast
for truth, for love