The season will search you out,
deadwood fingers pointing and grasping,
spreading out snowdrifts
to better capture color,
blowing ropes of wind
around the precious prey.
The season need not scavenge.
It is a hunter,
and never was the year
that escaped its mantle.
A contest entry
- QUICKIE: seasons [3/4] by etoile.
550 points, ended November 17, 2008, 17 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
-
this was very creative, starting from the title. the imagery and metapor was very good and i liked your take on the prompt. this was wonderfully written.
thanks for entering and goodluck

