Flitting and Fleeting

September 18, 2010
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Singe the foliage, Mother Sun does
as each leaf tightens a quivering clamp
An orange dusk sprinkles dust
like what once was dew on a not-so-fertile floor
To watch the day
go up in flames as birds do bid adieu
and crickets do mourn to the flute’s final tune
And so then to watch a sylvan fantasy crystallize and wither—
as do so many fantasies of Mother Nature’s lore—
As first browns pink cheeks and then freezes over brown
with such a blurry haste





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