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Autumn's Eve

There is a wood

A jaunt from the house

Down by the walk

Under which the

Creek bed cuts a swath.


Around the time fall

Encroaches, the sunset

Sets the sky afire

Just over the canopy

Of poplars and oaks.



Strolling by, mired in

the thoughts a day spawns

and from which nights often

offer no reprieve

A mind finds ease

In the comfort of

Knowing when the rain

Falls the torrent this causes

Washes the debris from the

Bed of the creek, bending the

Tall grasses and breaking off

The loose branches that bow

And dip as if to sip the cool

Water at the height of the hot,

August afternoons which cling

To late summer's oppressive

Clenched fist.


The branches will soon dry out

and shed their summer dress

Littering the rippling water

as it cascades over smoothed stones

the crystal reflection becoming awash

in crimson, orange and yellow,

Mirroring the pink, purple and fire light

Hues of the sky above.


The telephone rings and

calls attention

back to the present.

It is time now.

That which is expected, yet

still dread dampens all,

and along with the

Natural surroundings remind

the only constant is change,

the only permanence is in death

and eternity only lasts as long as

one imagines.

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