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A Word for Seasons
by Connie Walle
Once more we pass from the sweat of summer
to the cleansing rains of fall. Again,
the reds, rusts, and golds steal our breath,
rob the plum, apple and cherry of their gifts.
I love to walk through the park, watch
the colors vie for attention, wave good-bye
to the Canadian geese. I watch unknown
people stand beside the lake talking,
not knowing the lake hears their secrets.
I know the lake listens to their lies,
sees past the shadows of their indiscretions,
leaves them to toss and turn in their sleep,
knows they plot against love.