Poetry and Poetics
FOR A WINTER MORNING
Lovers in their bed breathe easy.
Inmates in their cells care less.
The man with a job wakes to his weight
while the man without wakes to his wall.
It’s a good day to be a farmer,
the sky clear of omens and the soil already turned.
Yesterday’s money means nothing now.
Winds graze the field where fruit once fell.
© by Peter Serchuk
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