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Sonnet: A Vain Word

A Vain Word
by Michael R. Burch

Oleanders at dawn preen extravagant whorls
as I read in leaves' Sanskrit brief moments remaining
till sunset implodes, till the moon strands grey pearls
under moss-stubbled oaks, full of whispers, complaining
to the minions of autumn, how swiftly life goes—
as I fled before love... Now, through leaves trodden black,
shivering, I wander as winter's first throes
of cool listless snow drench my cheeks, back and neck.
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Monday, January 20, 2020
Topic(s) of this poem: autumn,fall,flower,flowers,leaves,love,moon,sunset,vanity,winter
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