| I fall away from skies
too blue to bear, light on bed of leaves or on stacks of hay, summer mown in barn striped with sunlight. Fall kick starts life. Apples float. Colors flare in maple, mums. Monarchs fly above fields plow-ridged awaiting seeds, rain. When early dark wraps itself outside a familiar quilt, cedar scented, patched for winter's resolve, I fall away. __Myrne Roe
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