I’m starved for green, my life’s blood buried
in the yard under snow.

A blade of grass, a sprig of sage is all it would take
to revive me.

My lavender smothers while my garlic is choking in darkness
’til the temperature rises from ten below.

Four more weeks of this dread frosting fog has sent
me to bed in wanting.

 

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2 thoughts on “Writing 201: Poetry Prompt: Fog-Form:Elegy-Device:Metaphor

Any thoughts on the above post are appreciated! Otherwise, I think I must be living under a rock.

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