November Night

by Adelaide Crapsey


LISTEN . . .
With faint dry sound,
Like steps of passing ghosts,
The leaves, frost-crisp'd, break from the trees
And fall.

Comments

HaynesBE said…
Hmmm. Thanks for that quiet moment.

Popular posts from this blog

Plainsies, Clapsies

Memorizing the Preamble to the Constitution

Why I am an Objectivist