fall/winter
Under tissue sky I
plunder
the end-of-the-season sale.
All the leaves, crackling bloodless arid,
you can fit in one paper bag.
A dozen seed pods--a bargain!--
everything within on chelonian lock-down.
Then by the river, so
foolish and tender,
a yellow rose I grab to hold in my hibernating
heart.
This song by the way is just Ray being Ray. And I suspect the caterpillar is buttoned up in a cardigan.
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