Colder
Glass ice on puddles
Littering gutters
I'm on the edge
Low cloud turns to fog
Where the work begins
The air is wet with drizzle
seeping to my bones
Black stones
Grey tones
Where's my light, this morning?
In the Robins song
Echoing by the churchyard
And the hover
Of the Kestrel
Hunting on the hill.
#CoSopoetry