Not comparable


I see orange 

pumpkins, crimson 

beets and wine

chrysanthemums, feel 

crisp autumn air,

but not 

in the hospital room, 

an oxygen machine

drones, an alert button 

droops helpless, near a

fig newton

beside 

the small plastic cup—

waiting for winter is 

not comparable

to witnessing a tender soul,

his long life fading away.

~

©2017 Ontheland

12 thoughts on “Not comparable

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