Indian Summer

Something new (and late) over on my poetry blog.

Coronets For Ghosts

Indian Summer

Indian Summer,
golden and implausibly charred.
Only one pot holds flowers 
to reach for the sun,
all of the others contain
withered wraiths
of long-spent blooms,
their calendar clocks
denying the possibility
Of these late September days.




©AndrewJamesMurray

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