Saturday, February 4, 2012

IV: Wheeler Avenue

Rows of white houses sit, like frowning old men
who, having nothing more to say to one another,
proceed to drowse away the remnants of a grey afternoon
in the breezes of a mild and timid winter.
The trees loiter in the yards, with crooked arms raised,
trying to remember their leaves
which, like long-forgotten dreams,
have been lost forever in the wind.

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