Poetry Corner: November Impressions

Dry leaves in strong staccato stutter across a road like stiff, ungainly spiders, prodded by a sheep dog wind.

And ominous clouds shuttle from peak to peak across the valleys like cocks delivered in a game, each pass faster.

The tawny pastures cling near the trees, themselves standing like ghosts at Dachau and resembling the efforts of an inept mortician who fails to restore their verdant growth.

And the wind, like gusts from Dante's lowest level, drives nails of ice through a body lured to softness by Indian Summer.