Autumn In New England
The hurricanes have ceased,
orange and gold leaves fall,
and dusk approaches
while I brush my hair.
In my line of sight
books beckon,
music entices,
prayer tempts. But the one
to whom I belonged
has betrayed me
again
and I have vanquished him.
I am inconsolable
and weeping.
New England is prized
for it's autumnal glory.
How I wish to watch a kite
rise, alone on a hill of majestic hues
but the kite,
so fragile and tentative
would crash under the weight
of my grief.
-- 10/28/08 --
Copyright © Dawn Newell | Year Posted 2008
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