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Just beyond the end of autumn
I hear the winter's call
and he arrives to slay the leaves
which, stubborn, clung through fall.

The land once green and full of life
has now grown cold and sere
and harvest's colors once so rife
no longer are seen here.

As white and silver cloak descends
to cover silent frozen land
air turns cold as all warmth ends
and quietens all at hand.

Yet in this land grown frigid, bleak
a subtle beauty lies
seen only by the few who seek
solitude beneath blue skies.

For here and there for those who look,
in sheltered cove, near quiet brook,
the brilliant reds of bird and berry
are often seen by those who tarry.

And although life seems to have fled
from hoary woods that look so dead
the slower pulse of lives still beat
though stealthy now instead of fleet.

This muted land so chill and bare
is still the home to fox and hare
and running ground to buck and doe;
an outdoor stage for jay and crow.

Although this season's cold and still
and death is all it seems to bring
if not for the winter's chill
who'd care if ever there came spring ?

Style / type: 
Structured: Western
Review Request (Intensity): 
I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back
Review Request (Direction): 
What did you think of my title?
How was my language use?
What did you think of the rhythm or pattern or pacing?
How does this theme appeal to you?
How was the beginning/ending of the poem?
Last few words: 
This was the second or third poem I posted on Neopoet.........scribbler
Editing stage: 


Stretch them all you can if this is the quality of work you'll be putting out!
I really like the gentle tone of resignation here, a sort of changing the mood along with the season. Nothing arbitrary or forced. Just going along as nature indended!
Lovely piece!


I actually did a few minor edits as I posted this and find myself going back to this every so often to make a change here and there. I am glad you enjoyed this (one of my earliest writes )........scribbler

author comment

Nature at it's best and you write so well of it. I really enjoyed this Stan and miss reading all your great ones. I will catch up soon friend

Love to you and Sue

I wasn't aware I had any "great " ones lol but am glad you liked this rerun..........stan

author comment

Yes I have binoculars but it is not I who has been peeping at you lol ! Thank you for your kind words........stan

author comment

As age catches up,

i am now getting a feeeling

we must write shorter poems

i won't say crisp

lest its once again causes a slip

and in the minds of the elite

it gives them a chance to lisp


It seems the only way I can write a short poem is to restrict myselr to Haiku and even then I write them in series lol. Good as always to hear from you.......scribbler

author comment

Briefest One!

It’s always a pleasure

Measure for measure

My religious poem

Is a life times treasure

If you say so too

Twill be a pleasure.


love the whole poem of course....

seems we've all got the 'weather bug' - all the writes (including mine) i have come across so far today have been about it...

love to you scribbler

'Each for the joy of the working, and each, in his separate star,
shall draw the Thing as he sees It, for the God of Things as They are.'
(Rudyard Kipling)

thanks Judy. Guess I'll post something not pertaining to weather today just to keep ya'll guessing lmao......scribbler

author comment

I guess this shows that I Do go back to even my oldest stuff and do reviews and edits lol

author comment

Read it then and enjoyed, and still today it's still a great read. Thoroughly good read. Regards Roscoe...

Roscoe Llane,

Religion will rip your faith off, and return
for the mask of disbelief that's left.

Thank you. It's still one of my favorite self writes also. And since you still recall it from the old site there must be something good about it lol. Appreciate your revisit........stan

author comment

Did you know (you too Geezer) that you're signed up for the Classic Forms workshop? Go get yourselves on the thread. I've already started in a small way.

W. H. Snow

A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds. Percy Bysshe Shelley

Learn how, teach others.
The NeoPoet Mentor Program

So now people are being drafted into work shops? Hmmm.....perhaps I should run a shop on brevity in free verse and draft you lmao............stan

author comment

I'm ready to serve.

W. H. Snow

A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds. Percy Bysshe Shelley

Learn how, teach others.
The NeoPoet Mentor Program

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