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Talk runs high
these days of fall
a trend that apprehends
what-all I view as missed
or ill-begotten, half sung
not quite tragedy but dull
from over-chiming of
regret at how our time
was spent, and yet it seems
to me that every hue upon
the colour wheel, every
quarter turn of life invigorates
the leaf through pages that
reveal a beauty never seen
until the likes of you and I
first meet again and touch
and wander, eye to eye.


© Elaine Stirling, 2013