Poetry of Kansas

To Fall

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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March 7, 2003 / John & Susan Howell / Wichita, Kansas / howell@kotn.org

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