Friday, November 13, 2015

November Poetry


In the dawn
that chills my bones
and numbs my face
from ear to ear,
I see each word I speak
take flight,
a whiff of fog,
then disappear. 

John Frank 


barbara judge said...

So reminds me of my native state of Michigan -- fog as I speak in the winter. Simple poem with lots of meaning to me -- barbara

Rambling Woods said...

I like this