The Angel Trumpet recoils, the last bit of leaves withered
and gray.
A garden sighs in the early morning breezes
New Years Day
The sky is pale, the way I feel, the sadness of the year in
deconstruction
Every bit of its skeleton, tucked neatly away
I’m awake, watching the birds
New Years Day
What grand structure to erect, what color to choose,
thoughts to connect
It all begins with habit and intention today.
Make your list and start the next year
New Years Day
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