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Post by Honeylioness on Oct 13, 2015 20:31:06 GMT -5
THE SECRET
Shy New England, my Yankee home, You of taciturn folk and rock-studded soil, Pole for the Pilgrim’s journey, You have an October secret.
It brims over in cascades of orange pumpkins at Countless roadside stands, In riotous waves of late-blooming asters and mums, But most of all, it explodes on hillsides and roadways in Lavish pourings.
Of gold, persimmon and scarlet, sunglass-bright – Feeding the spirit, warming the heart, an overwhelming Explosion of beauty and color, nothing withheld, Like an old woman wearing all her treasures at once.
And while we still marvel, the bits of color Begin their fluttering cortege to the ground, Building crackling piles to scuff through, releasing rich Earthy smiles as they are crushed underfoot.
New England, you return to seeming sensibility But through the cold and snow of winter, The warmth of your excesses remains, embers of hope and abandon -
Revelation of your hidden self.
~ Rebecca Dawson 1995
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Post by angelc on Oct 14, 2015 7:39:35 GMT -5
Fabulous poem to post, here in the midst of October's stained-glass profusion of wonder.
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