It's November again.
Old men mount bicycles,
wobble down cobblestone,
shift weight
as they pass the churchyard.
Early evening. Cold rain.
The trees are stripped of their pages.
In the morning:
the scurrying of confetti.
The mailman smiles--
smells old smells.
The children sit in a circle,
mill dead leaves, build a mound
of tree dust between them.
It's November again.
Small boys mount bicycles,
wobble down cobblestone,
shift weight
as they pass the schoolyard.
K.D. Mann
Jul 18, 2010
Jul 18, 2010 at 5:14 PM UTC
It's November again.
Old men mount bicycles,
wobble down cobblestone,
shift weight
as they pass the churchyard.
Early evening. Cold rain.
The trees are stripped of their pages.
In the morning:
the scurrying of confetti.
The mailman smiles--
smells old smells.
The children sit in a circle,
mill dead leaves, build a mound
of tree dust between them.
It's November again.
Small boys mount bicycles,
wobble down cobblestone,
shift weight
as they pass the schoolyard.
K.D. Mann
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