H A I K
U
The first
icicle
glistens
on the lowest branch,
heralding
winter.
A lone
star shining,
peeps
through clouds announcing night
and the
universe.
I reach
the hilltop;
excited I
sit and wait
asking,
"will he come?"
Small sea
waves ripple,
The
howling wind increases,
Threatening a storm.
Silently
snow falls,
Covering
the frozen lake,
Hungry
birds hover.
-c. J.M.
Lewis November 2000-
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