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Surrender

This golden maple has shed its treasure


Stands grey and stark
Among silver skeletons that rattle
I walked today into the glade
There was a rime of frost there
crisping the lines of a turkey feather
It marked remnants of other lives:
maple leaf, fox pad, deer track
The wind changed and flakes swirled
A chill exhalation and I surrender

-Susan Miller-Lindquist

11/4/10

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