Comments Inbox
| |
About This Poem
A Second Spring
The dew indiscriminately
wept for all things living and dead
on this early autumn morning.
Its cold droplets caressed the leaves
while lingering sap-starved leaf stems
clung precariously above
and each dying leaf shed teardrops
for and onto their fallen kind.
One by one they released their hold
falling silently, gracefully
in their final unique fashion:
Some swayed. Others pirouetted;
and many more, somersaulting
into their final resting place.
Sunbeams from an October star
spilt rippling puddles of warm light
on their multicolored remains
amid the vibrant wildflowers.
Autumn is a second spring when every leaf is a flower.
Albert Camus
|
|
|