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Late October by Maya Angelo

Carefully
the leaves of autumn
sprinkle down the tinny
sound of little dyings
and skies sated
of ruddy sunsets
of roseate dawns
roil ceaselessly in
cobweb greys and turn
black for comfort.

Only lovers
see the fall
a signal end to endings
a gruffish gesture alerting
those who will not be alarmed
that we begin to stop
in order simply
to begin
again.

Date: 2011-07-16 04:16 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] anthologie.livejournal.com
Lovely. <3

Date: 2011-07-16 05:23 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] chelidon.livejournal.com
Thank you! I'd like to say I've known it for years, but I first ran across that poem earlier this year in the back of a book of prayer in a Unitarian church in Boston (Unitarians are so cool ;>), where Claudia and I were seeing Alasdair Fraser and Natalie Haas play in April. I opened the book, and there it was -- so perfect, a message from the gods. Spring is the time of obvious new life, but of course Fall is when endings begin, and when new beginnings are born. A lot of poetry is crap...just words. But the true ones...ah. Yeah. :)

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