Gusts of wind in my face,
Tears of rain on my hair,
Mist lingers on the river,
Wood-smoke hangs in the air,
A bitter-sweet season
That smells of despair.
I sit by the riverbank
Where the trees turn to rust,
Through tangles of grass
Bony weeds thrust:
Seasonal refugees,
Gold turns to dust.
writing in north norfolk 
Beautiful lines….really beautiful…
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Thank you 🙂
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Welcome….
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Beautiful poem Kim. I particularly liked the last 2 lines. Gold turns to dust.
Also wanted to ask if you could find the time to go through my book Lei.
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HI Somali! I did start to read Lei but got caught up in various things. I will be able to read more on Monday and will review on Amazon.
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Thank you Kim. Take your time. I remember that you had mentioned how difficult it is to get publishers in one of your posts. Maybe you could also look at the self publishing route. Just a suggestion.
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I have thought about it for my poetry and possibly for short stories. Thank you for the tip.
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