In fall the world is upsidedown:
instead of branches
roots reach for the sky
and leaves reach down for branches
clutched in earth

Soon snow will bury all
and ghosts of summer
will play under all
on bed of leaves
not needing shade of naked limbs
to shield them from
the blackened undersun

Until the spring
when leaves creep
out of limbs
and all is right again

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About riverwriter

Poet, playwright, duplicate bridge player, website designer, cottager, husband, father, grandfather, former athlete, carpenter, computer helper for my friends, theatre designer, backstage polymath, retired teacher of highschool English, drama, art, a baritone singer in a barbershop quartet, who knows what else? wordcurrents is on Facebook: Doug also has a Facebook page, "Incognitio", related to his novels.
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