By Lamplight

Gray days and misty nights
reading Eliot by lamplight
are not conducive to a cheerful mind.
 Damn, I’m ready for some sunshine.
September is too soon
for these wintry thoughts
of what we shouldn’t
and what we ought,
delicate clashes of yins and yangs
possible and impossible
pairs of opposites
just funhouse mirror images.
 The hell with that noise,
give me birds at the feeder,
a breeze rustling sun-kissed
leaves of red and gold
before they turn brown
and fall to the ground.

April is the cruelest Poetry Month

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