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Sketched with a pencil, trees are keeping guard
For my enchan…(scratch that) surrendered castle.
Under the bridge rests thick and darkened lard
Unfit to be a carrier to a vessel.

It’s been a while indeed since dragonflies
And sprightly fish disturbed the frigid water.
The anchored heron’s looking down at skies
Right at that spot where wind of change has brought her.

I’m rushing home through early dampish haze
In lustful seething act with dying ember.
The doorstep smells like coffee and always;
And lanterns smell like light and like December.

There’s still so much I need to do before
I give into the overrated bliss fuss
While seemingly maintaining status quo.
My son is almost nine. It’s almost Christmas.