Beneath the ragged edge of fall

Beneath the ragged edge of fall,

lagging leaves stain the mossed sidewalks.
Weary, wet, intractable, they’ve lost
the lyric tint of cherry, maple, plum;
the beat of alder, oak, and elm.

They’ll fossil on concrete unless
some poet rakes them into lasting lines
like Letters spelling ‘death’ are not a death
or Nothing is forever just itself.


Carolyn Martin

About Carolyn Martin

After forty years in the academic and business worlds, Carolyn Martin is happily retired in Clackamas, OR where she revels in the leisure to garden, write, and participate in communities of creative colleagues.
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