Friday, September 25, 2009

Untitled ('Young boy winter'?)

How much white in the air today, instead of gold! How

fair the light and fading, giving

way to welcome youthful cold, who'll

play outdoors all afternoon with falling leaves (how

red his cheeks!) and evening, pleasing

parents, whom -- beloved -- he'll leave behind.

(I looked outside and this poem came in, encouraged by yesterday's reading of a fellow poet's verses in progress, all with more _song_ than I'm used to seeing, and by the memory of a young boy pleased at moving faster than he was used to experiencing.)

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