the season of my muse

Around the park
Lucky leads clockwise
counter our normal

path
several trees are a few leaves
shy of brilliant
others a few short
of bare

I wonder how this
became the season

of
my muse
a child of summer
grown into autumn
to fall
to leave
and should I worry
when my poems
turn to snow

and the dead of winter? mjh

10/26/2004

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