October 2, 2007
Cannonballs in the distance,
Their echoes carried on the wind.
Men on all sides falling,
Falling like autumn leaves
To the doomful earth.
The lady with the rake
Darts beneath the branches,
Circling the trunk,
Catching the descending leaves
Into the safety of her apron.
One of them may be her husband.
But the deluge is overwhelming,
And she collapses,
Leaves and all else spilling from her,
Watching as the plummeting red-stained leaves,
Spin in dizzying centrifuge.
To the sound of ravenous cannons,
Soon, those branches will be bare.

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