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An Autumn Garden

An Autumn Garden

The leaves fall, the wind blows, and the farm country slowly changes from the summer cottons into its winter wools – Henry Beston

Oh calm morning of autumn mild!

Thy leaves are ripened for the fall. 

The cool hours of day begin slowly,

And dew-drenched fallen leaves shiver. 

Are they alive, dead, or in between! 

Or is it just nature’s way   

Of keeping other creatures mystified.

A waft of freshly mowed grass,

Rises in the air and strokes,

The bare branches of sleepy oaks.

Is he fetching vigour for rebirth!

Or is weary from its long life.

Thy emulous flowers are dead too,

Some are flowering even in their fall.

Everything seems to be a transition.

The cool languor of evening,

Is dizzying and tranquil too.    

With dead flowers and leaf detritus,

Resting mindfully on soil that,     

Precipitate slowly into humus and love.

Thy falling petals are joys that I pursued,

While leaves are my melancholic moods.

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