Friday, October 22, 2010

a poem

fields turn from green to brown
as the torch bearer slowly
wanders through the trees
one by one, each set a-flame;
mother nature’s arsonry.
a gasp of breath: the world’s on fire
[and we smile for a time]
til the flames subside;
the falling leaves, fading embers
and with the last is left a skeleton of ash,
an empty tree: the soul’s sadness.

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