Hanging Clothes in Autumn
Hanging clothes out on the clothesline,
a breeze tussles my graying hair.
I pour a cup of coffee and stop
for sunshine on the front porch stairs.
A bird whistles some code for living.
A mystery that only he knows.
Though the leaves are turning still he stays.
to be vibrant in the winter snows.
I cherish these flashes of life.
Simple moments to start a day.
The hills are harvested, the air is chilled,
God’s gift is a cabaret.
But now the floors need washing
and there’s a poem I must write
So I leave the clothes, the hills, the birds
to their time in this celestial sight.
a breeze tussles my graying hair.
I pour a cup of coffee and stop
for sunshine on the front porch stairs.
A bird whistles some code for living.
A mystery that only he knows.
Though the leaves are turning still he stays.
to be vibrant in the winter snows.
I cherish these flashes of life.
Simple moments to start a day.
The hills are harvested, the air is chilled,
God’s gift is a cabaret.
But now the floors need washing
and there’s a poem I must write
So I leave the clothes, the hills, the birds
to their time in this celestial sight.
10/16/2023
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