Poem 388 – Autumn is Here

Mist upon the windows,
Hanging in the air at every breath,
Chilling the lungs with each intake of air,
Turning the trachea to an icicle,
Drifting in through slanderous cracks
To transform the bus to an ice-rink,
And write upon the walls in fern-embossed words
“Autumn is here; autumn is here.”

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