Wisps of smoke
rise skyward,
as the last of
burning embers
glow.
Naked limbs
sway gently,
shaking off the
last of winter’s
snow.
A church bell
rings far off
in the distance,
calling me to
go.
Come…
…Come…
……Come…
it beckons;
and once again
the answer’s
no.
~gj duerrschmidt
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