The Quiet Plodder

By thequietplodder

The last day of autumn

The last day of autumn

arrived, weak with its Sun,
timid fluorescents upon the eastern sky.
Now the season's a wreck
its unimaginable turned memorial
and those quarrelsome devotions of summer
display their pain of lavish sighs through a single leaf:

throw May away, it is not intoxicating anymore.

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