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September 30th

Rose-apricot washes sky between
        Black filigree of oak and pine.
The park now whispers amber-green
        As autumn pours its wine.

Leaves curl upon the cooling ground
        As lamps first punctuate a path.
The day, like many lives, has browned
        Into an aftermath.

And yet resilience might yet glean
        New wisdom from mistake and pain,
And like the reaching evergreen
        Make resin from the rain.
Posted 08/26/13
first published in Resin from the Rain (Rose Alley Press, 2002)
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