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Autumn Surrender

by Nicholas John Street
Colours lit through half bare trees
Translucent 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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