SLATE ROOFS

A renewed moon gained celestial strength,

rising over tree tops, spreading silver lines

onto quiet night streets .

The town green possesses a dark silence

under the gray shadow of a heaven

pointing steeple.

The church bell signs its presence into

cool air as the sound reaches slate roofs

and clapboard homes.

The town lives under another moon for

another night.  The seasons are changing;

cold is the fingerprint of winter.

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