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Leaves
There's nothing left of Autumn but the leaves
that twirl about the yard, as if on stage
The clever footlights hidden in the sheaves
illuminate a long forgotten age
Soon, Winter's silver bells begin to peal -
"There's nothing left of Autumn but the leaves..!"
and flurried curtains draw back to reveal
the dancers that her aging mind perceives
The wind takes up a fiddle in the eaves,
as brittle ballerinas pirouette
There's nothing left of Autumn... but the leaves
still dance for her tonight, in silhouette
She's unaware the figures seen below
are figments of the past her mind retrieves,
yet when, at last, the lights come up she'll know
...there's nothing left of Autumn but the leaves
Copyright ©
Lycia Harding
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