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Novembers End
A few wet, wind scorched leaves,
are pressed like Victorian mementos
upon the wooden walkway
The trees in this forested park are tattered,
or stand like blackened forked skewers
piercing the stark air.
Autumn fell too far, too soon.
Winter grabbed the sky and quickly froze it.
Now the odd leaf upon the ground
seems abandoned, homeless,
unable now to be anything
but the litter of yesterday.
A good day for wading through
the history of this changing season,
to watch those prematurely gray ghosts
hobbling along a pathway
seeking threadbare sparks of life.
Copyright ©
Eric Ashford
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