Brittle leaves Fall like yellow snow. Hot August No rain, no clouds, Life suspended, Waiting. The ghosts of summer Linger, Autumn's scholars Wait future-hidden For their cue To troop on stage For parts and scenes Still unimagined, Still unknown. What will be My role In this Life-story? I know No more than they. But nigh 50 summers gone Tell me Neither they nor I Will find, Come spring's gentle song, We spoke The words Or walked The paths We dreamed we would. So Life Bends and shapes Us all.
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