Frederick Kesner
Frederick Kesner
Mar 16, 2010


Rough was the wind that flattened
a tree from its anchored moor
a destiny not too quick to ruin
presented a whispering word to me

on we traverse without respite
that weary road we take

what imprint was left behind
that swept relentless against the walls
a spectre of bygone landscapes
whose blustering gusts are raptured calls

© Frederick Kesner. All Rights Reserved.
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