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Autumn Surrenderby Nicholas John StreetTranslucent brown and green Beauty dies with more grace Than a man's most valiant defeat A final work of living art Transient and condemned To walk icy winter's last mile November wind, here take my tired thoughts And carry them like leaves to the forest floor Left there, surrendered to decay I will follow in Autumn's wake Pulled by the ebb tide When my clutching hands Have lost their defiant grip Crown of leaves, curled and brown Is torn from me and slain A lofty seat stripped bare of foliage No throne uncovered where no throne was A fallen counterfeit king I weep at the parting In sadness . . . and relief Who am I now? The cold deepens Stark senses withdraw From a stark world And turn within Deep inside Here in my heart A faint glowing warmth |
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