Morning mists lift from cars, standing,
waiting.
Sunlight sifts through, glinting off of windows.
The Times, the Times, the Times, strewn here. And there …
Remnants of orange, Autumn, brush the sky.
waiting.
Sunlight sifts through, glinting off of windows.
The Times, the Times, the Times, strewn here. And there …
Remnants of orange, Autumn, brush the sky.
This piece has been published in Teen Ink’s monthly print magazine.


TheMadAuthor

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