Ten days
before solstice. . .

There’s no way
I ever could
regain my stride
in which
I’d take more pleasure
(mixed with a bit of pride)
at my own chosen
pace of leisure,
to pedal up a hill
on my favorite
WHEE! bike ride,
engaging brain, lungs
and heart,
and owlish eyes
as sunset cedes
to eventide.

A joy
I’d do well
to remember,
come more dark days
of deep December.

This entry was posted in Autumn, Medium Length Poems, Poetry, Seasons, Winter and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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