Poem-The Last Cold November
Category: Writing and Poetry
It’s the dark morning glow at 5 a.m.
Rain begins to send us the message of its sound slowly.
The last cold November
lets the last leaf on a maple tree swing in right and left.
Before the morning sunshine visits us,
the scorching red broken piece flies to the sky highly.
And then,
it falls down to the place where its friends have already slept well.
I open a window and exhale my white breath.
I play putting a foggy silence on my palm for a while.
©2008 Takako All rights reserved.
