The threadbare weave of winter <br />comes after the last leaf of autumn <br />has only barely touched the ground. <br />A chill that inherits the air <br />tells of the new season around. <br />The last ghosts of autumn <br />linger as if in a dream <br />before winter’s blanket <br />shrouds all to hide the ground. <br /> <br /> <br /> <br />28 September 2o11<br /><br />David Harris<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/last-ghosts-of-autumn/
