Goose guardians upon
The slate gray pond
He sees the gray sky
And the tumult
A swarm of leaves
She sees the ineffable
Love of nature, our
Mother-Electra
Over the little dale
Where the red sumac
Falls in spears of sorrow
(not really sorrow, but an inevitable pain
an arthritic joint we have gotten used to)
I see them both
Young lovers in November
Nuzzled up against
A dying word, snuggling
Down to life’s last embers
With God in this all.
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