Today's poem is by Martha Carlson-Bradley

[Dead of winter for the dead.]

Dead of winter for the dead.

In the barn, unoccupied,
feeble sunlight

creeps on a floor
littered with fragments of straws.

Porcelain eggs that fooled the hens
grow deeply cold.

On the workbench
a heavy magnifying glass

begins to frost over.

Copyright © 2012 Martha Carlson-Bradley All rights reserved
from If I Take You Here
Adastra Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission

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