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Wednesday, October 06, 2010

Magpie Tales 35



The Fall

Not all
falls are without grace
it’s not all black and white

the lush green
slowly ages
to perfection
and one day

we wake like the frog
in the pan on the stove
who only notices
he is cooked

too late to realize
summer has crossed
the line

and we cheer
the cool afternoons
brushed with color
aplenty

we plan weekend excursions
around watercolor scapes—
drive deep into their belly
and breathe the discolored air
crisp and thick
with ripe

and over weeks
all this too
will pass

all will slowly
lose grip
in a
last
dying
act

and gently
on streams of air
fall effortlessly
without a sound
to the ground
below


©2010 – Michael A. Wells – all rights reserved

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