Archive for the ‘Helen Losse’ Category

We snuggle in to gaze out the window,
view stray snowflakes, lost in the rain.

Soup-full, we wish for warm weather
in spite of the groundhog.  For moments,

we are happy just watching a squirrel
swinging upside down, stealing seeds

from a bird feeder. Fat, brown sparrows
congregate in ice-glazed snow to nibble at

fallen seeds. Where is the cardinal
who fed while the snow fell?  We wish

“His Brightness” would return
to peck among sparrows.  We wish

sparrows would build springtime nests.
We wish we knew more songs from the 60s.

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Moon-Lit Ghosts by Helen Losse

I’m not afraid of those curled-brown leaves—
hanging in bunches from deciduous trees—
nor strong gusts of the season’s first cold wind
that will send the last leaves flying into darkness.

I do not avoid spots where leaves now decay
in the rain on city sidewalks and ominous shadows—
who are the virtual ghosts of their green-spring existence—
fall, when the moon’s orange light spares a Halloween beam.

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