March 23rd, 2020

T.Byron K. 2013

The Beginning of The End

Amid
those unspoken
departures
the broken
blooms are
snow pale
as death.

What angelic
shout of
children still
lifts beyond
the back yard?/
She sweeps
blossoms like
Winter ice from
her front porch
& a cold
rain readies
her new
bed of flowers.

There may
still be (last)
poems
in a lonely
room at
the end
of the world.

3/23/2020