Winter Sun by Sharmagne Leland-St. John

Fleeting Glory
by Vaughn Neeld

A winter sun bleeds pink
through thin, vaporous clouds
that roil above a line
of navy-blue mountains.

An old adobe hut's
dark, empty-eyed windows
stare blindly across fields
of sage and rabbitbrush
humped beneath their snowy
blanket. Along the lane,
the snow remains pristine;
no tracks mar its surface.

I gaze upon the scene
and know that this fleeting
glory is mine alone.


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