Haze Of A Reverie

Snow piles down from a place
somewhere near the moon
That I eclipsed with an apple
Plucked from the scrapbook
Of who I was in my cider days.

Wind howls a restless tune
With a harmony of rain
Pouring from the moon -
Wailing, "Fleeting
springtime fled too soon."

I pick up the scrapbook
And skim those pages
Filled with photos of me,
preserved in the haze of a reverie -
The curse of a jaded memory.