new poem

Winter in Ohio

Trees are nearly bare.
Leaves hang on, shrunken and crisp.
Wide open spaces where there weren't before.
Long parking lots are empty.
Behind the homes by the rivers,
canoes are hung upside down.
The great rivers are small and rocky,
dry, cold, and bare.
The land is dying slow.
Clear, azul skies stretch and stretch.
Scare-crows, with hay bursting from flannel,
stand erect in fields of wheat
cut low.