by Lorna Smithers The mid-December wind Tears down the last leaves Blasted boughs circle the skies Like wild weather vanes, The ivy trembles. Amidst the ramparts Decks a forest miniature Where the prickling holly Shines aquifolium locks On berries vermillion.…

by Lorna Smithers The day The sun died I walked to the edge Of the world to watch it fall. Upon the solstices it is said That time stands still. It’s rays beat the clouds; Orange eclipsing purple invocations. Blocks…