Sweeping Autumn Leaves

by Colly

(personal photo)

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Windswept leaves are tousled in the breeze.

As passersby traverse under branches high.


Long sweaters lend comfort in the weather.

When wind’s billow, capture then rescind.


Or rain pelts, rivulets near a storm drain.

Curbside leaves then paste to wet streets.


Fall’s leaves, too, gather along the eaves.

Out there breath crystallizes in chilly air.

Shakespeare Sonnet XII:

When I do count the clock that tells the time,
And see the brave day sunk in hideous night;
When I behold the violet past prime,
And sable curls all silver'd o'er with white;
When lofty trees I see barren of leaves
Which erst from heat did canopy the herd,
And summer's green all girded up in sheaves
Borne on the bier with white and bristly beard,
Then of thy beauty do I question make,
That thou among the wastes of time must go,
Since sweets and beauties do themselves forsake
And die as fast as they see others grow;
And nothing 'gainst Time's scythe can make defence
Save breed, to brave him when he takes thee hence.

I found this, Shakespearean poem, while “checking”

if “leaves” and “streets” rhyme’s – turns out, not quite.

Would Shakespeare have enjoyed the internet, I wonder?

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