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- Non-Erotic Poetry
- October Morning
Poem Info
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On the trees’ periphery
the rooks caw. Cold day
clears slowly, the mist
is lifting. The wood’s floor
is littered with brown:
rotting leaves, last night’s
broken branches, one
dead birch fell right across
the path. Another hour
will see the sun lie
flat on the hard, yellow
maize stubble – autumn’s
most satisfying sight:
a bright illusion of gold
through the dark trees.
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