Leaves. Almost gone for the year. New Poem



Duncan Wallace

Patterned, like the stars are patterned.

Tracing a vein through semi-opaque matter, splitting and diverging into delicate fragments.

Not necessarily green but changing with the seasons, like us all.

Forming rich, red and brown hues before falling endlessly and inevitably to the ground

To be trampled underfoot or gathered up in a basket
Or with a brush,
Or hoover

‘til next year, when it will all begin again.


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