As the light fades
the way toward home
grows dim
Dust motes linger
tiny statues in still air
Shadows lean long
through bare limbs
maple trees so recent
full to overflowing
with wild dancing leaves
Silhouettes of wild
blackberry canes
hover ghostly on the berm
beneath a slivery moon
Fence posts tilt toward dusk
The wires between go slack
Sassafras leaves are dusty
with forgotten days
The ditch is dry and
cracked
The light grows dim
I have no lantern
but I know the way
John Robert McFarland
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