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The Changing of the Leaves

Fall is a dream.
It comes the east,
where people dare not dwell,
amid prairie and mountain peak,
among you an me,
and it says,
I draw my leaves as curtains
and close the stage
until the next performance,
and we weep
for the death of flowers
and the folding of summer trees–
knowing that something
within us dies
with the changing of the leaves.

5 thoughts on “The Changing of the Leaves

    1. Thanks Lucy, I always notice likes from my regulars like yourself. I write for myself in large even though what I write about for the most part is anything but about me. I just know in reality that writing poetry is going to be a long road to see any success, so I might as well put everything I have into regardless of numbers of views. It is readers like yourself that come back and read and like that lets me know that for the most part I am writing stuff that is worth a read. Thanks for the feedback.

      Liked by 1 person

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