Inspiration has been sparse lately. I wrote this walking to my Doog's house one day last month and I wasn't planning on posting it. As you can tell, I'm not a poet.
You poor October tree.
Withered and dry, your vitality
Stolen, once so tall and strong,
Brittle.
Tightened.
Once reaching up now recoiling.
Shivering against the cold.
Shrinking back,
Crying and creaking its tired bones.
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