IN DECEMBER (Inspired by Du Fu, Tang Dynasty Poet) The trees and the clouds sway easily in the wind. But beyond my vision, stars are dying. The sky is a lonely grave. In the mirror, my face looks rough. I need a shave. With the winter snow, the birds have vanished to wherever they go. Will I be here when they come again? Such thoughts go better with wine, if at all. I look out my window, watching snow as it falls. settling quietly like a pall.
George Freek’s poetry has recently appeared in The Ottawa Arts Review, Acumen, The Lake, The Whimsical Poet, Triggerfish and Torrid Literature.
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