Frost came hard this year,
painting the landscape in browns,
every dead thing a testimony
to Frost.
Even the sun can not bring life
to the wasteland of plant corpses,
nature has been reproached
for beginning too soon.
Somber is the view out my window,
a cinnamon and nutmeg blend of color,
wilted and moping, droopy leaves
broken only by the flash of early robins.
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