<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=460666" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>0195 Autumn Gardener</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Gathering rosebuds with my rake; <br>the wooden tines scraping<br>over the gravel path<br>bringing a token of order <br>to the autumn of a life; </div><div style="margin:10px 0">rosebuds, nipped at the neck<br>by frost; dead leaves<br>curled like begging or covetous hands, <br>coloured like rich memories, red, orange, brown, <br>dry husks, spilt seed, <br>now crisp, eager to surrender to the fire, <br>its scented smoke curling like a pyre against<br>a cold blue sky now welcoming<br>a tidy offering up; <br>how clean, how sharp the autumn air</div><div style="margin:10px 0">darker under the trees<br>the leaves still wet<br>limp and flat as hope defeated, <br>pressed together as<br>words not meant, or<br>something missed; <br>next year the leaves<br>will remember innocence, <br>the tree broader, eager, <br>brown as wisdom tipped with exploratory green.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">gathering rosebuds with my rake<br>the season with its woodsmoke, evocative, <br>tempting to metaphor, hovering, <br>a garden of lost meaning; <br>no longer, this cooling autumn, a construction, <br>but speaking its own seriousness.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">how clean, how sharp the autumn air <br>scented by surrender</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Michael+Shepherd">Michael Shepherd</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=460666" data-title="0195 Autumn Gardener de Michael Shepherd" data-description="Gathering rosebuds with my rake; the wooden tines scraping over the gravel path bringing a token of order to the autumn of a life; rosebuds, nipped at the neck by frost; dead leaves curled like begging or covetous hands, coloured like rich me..."></div> </div> </div>

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