Crushed
All are gathered
To be crushed
Pressed together
After grown apart
Too sweet
And sickening
A smell
Remains
The fire rises
Up along the ridges
The valley smoke
Is remade as frost
Rolled away
Is the wasted sunlight
Decadent and fattened
From months
Unhung
And now brought about
In such a wind
That chills
The goblin child
Of winter
Tom McGlynn
copyright 2013
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