By: EarlB , 1:03 AM GMT on October 27, 2013
Golden leaf patens float to the ground
All around me,
Once manna, their job feeding the trees
Is now done.
Discarded, each of these god-miracles
Is sloughed away,
Wind-beaten, bug-eaten litter:
Now, just colorful trash.
But trash turns golden
When well whisked
With the laughter of tumbling children.
Here's autumn's communion.
The views of the author are his/her own and do not necessarily represent the position of The Weather Company or its parent, IBM.
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