Late November       Janice Chinn 21/11/19
Bare branches like gnarled fingers twisted and rough from age
Grey skies cloudless and silent hanging in space like a shroud
A horse tethered on a lifeless common
Standing as still as the dead grass surrounding her
A cold wind blowing in from the east
Chilling to the very core of your soul
Just a few yellow and red leaves
Hanging on in stubborn hope
Red berries very few waiting for the last pecks of the blackbird
Old woman sits and watching from her window
And likens herself to the scene beyond
Wondering if the spring to come will be hers once more to embrace