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In Poetry
In poetry, autumn is approaching death.
The mists of receding memory
part briefly in the shortening days
to feed the fruits of wisdom
to admiring young.
The dark night of winter
is a short blight
before life springs forth
again in proud perfection.
Floral beauty and rich crops
have spread their radiance,
fed their progeny, sown their seeds.
Done their job, returned to earth
to ...
Wednesday 16th December 2009 12:08 pm
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