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A F Harrold -poetryline
Poem

From Things You Find in a Poet's Beard by A.F. Harrold

 

Frost spins white lines

on the lawn,

grass turns glass-like,

crisp crackle-snap

underfoot.

Give The Ball to the Poet
Poem

We don' have a Springtime like some folk
Who live in dem colder place,
but we have a time when de soft rain come,
an' tease open de seedcase

Let in the Stars
Poem

We turn our faces up and jiggle thirty toes,
Morse-coding longing with our restless beat.
When will it come?
Shepherds on the first Nativity, we scan the skies
and huddle,

Poem

Aren’t you cold and won’t you freeze,
With branches bare, you winter trees?
You’ve thrown away your summer shift,
Your autumn gold has come adrift.