Which Leaf?
WHICH LEAF?
And I said, “Let grief be a fallen leaf at the dawning of the day”
---Patrick Kavanagh
Many are brown or yellow,
Orange or lichen green.
One leaf is so intensely red,
It seems unnatural.
One leaf will float on a stream.
One will be impaled on a branch.
One does not fall, but rises
And then falls, to ascend again.
I am one leaf amid the multitude.
They lie, almost still, upon the field,
Like dying warriors, amid the drumming
Of crickets and the hiss of wind.
Tell me, which leaf am I?
Boria Sax
(c) 2013
The Raven and the Sun: Poems and Stories
And I said, “Let grief be a fallen leaf at the dawning of the day”
---Patrick Kavanagh
Many are brown or yellow,
Orange or lichen green.
One leaf is so intensely red,
It seems unnatural.
One leaf will float on a stream.
One will be impaled on a branch.
One does not fall, but rises
And then falls, to ascend again.
I am one leaf amid the multitude.
They lie, almost still, upon the field,
Like dying warriors, amid the drumming
Of crickets and the hiss of wind.
Tell me, which leaf am I?
Boria Sax
(c) 2013
The Raven and the Sun: Poems and Stories
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Told Me by a Butterfly
We writers constantly try to build up our own confidence by getting published, making sales, winning prizes, joining cliques or proclaiming theories. The passion to write constantly strips this vanity
We writers constantly try to build up our own confidence by getting published, making sales, winning prizes, joining cliques or proclaiming theories. The passion to write constantly strips this vanity aside and forces us to confront that loneliness and the uncertainty with which human beings, in the end, live and die. I cannot reveal my love, without exposing my vanities, and that is the fate of writers.
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