Exhausted

Born dead
in the depth of November.
Year closing down
ground a shroud.
Crypt deep asleep
In a frozen cradle.

Nursed on the breast
of a dying year,
fear of light and growth
ingrained in nature
accustomed to recession.

November comes again.
Age and pain.
I welcome her now,
death is not an ending
but a welcome home.

– Dave Kavanagh

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