A DAY IN AUTUMN
by Ronald Stuart Thomas
It will not always be like this,The air windless, a few lastLeaves adding their decorationTo the trees’ shoulders, braiding the cuffsOf the boughs with gold; a bird preening
In the lawn’s mirror. Having looked upFrom the day’s chores, pause a minute,Let the mind take its photographOf the bright scene, something to wearAgainst the heart in the long cold.
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