Promptly Poetry Entries (6/20 - 6/21)

December Morning

December’s morning breath
frosts the brown leaves
that are layered over the fading greens
of once well-groomed lawns
and sunny, summer gardens.
The bare-armed trees shiver
but do not shrink from winter’s icy gaze.
They spread their fingers against the sky,
but no longer hide the face of dawn.
There’s comfort in their ruined state.
I can see clear down to the bus stop.
As the colors of the day
climb the trees,
my world is blue and gold.


Promptly Poetry Week 28
Prompt:
Look outside your window.
What do you see?
Look at the sky.
How do you feel?