My American Landscape LIV

Our Imagination, Or Our Ghost

Ghosts rise each night
Unless it is winter
Winter, the longest night

They come wrapped in sheets
Sheets to define and protect

The beauty of the day
Shrouded by the winters’ night

Roses aslee, the ghosts
The ghosts of last summer
Sweet fragrance
Dappled colors

Our senses await
For the ghost of summer

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