Remembering: A Poem for Little Redcoat


It’s raining cornflakes, brown and red,
So crisp they crunch beneath my feet.
Perhaps they’re waiting to be fed
To winter’s hungry, milk-white street.

They crackle in the frosty air
And trickle down, one under one,
As rain strips sugar-frosteds bare
And crispy-crunchies are undone.

            —S.R. Holman, all rights reserved

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