Poor Poet's Scroll

"No sword
Of wrath her right arm whirl'd, [6]
But one poor poet's scroll, and with 'his' word
She shook the world." - Tennyson, 'The Poet'

I may not shake the world, but I do believe in the power of words.

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11. Russet

Golden, mulberry and yellow,

they weave and skid beneath feet

that crinkle, crumple, crunch

through their thick carpet.

The west wind blows softly

and down cascade more

to join the blowing blanket.

Then trees stir and shake off

their heavy, throttling mantle

and down they shimmer;

a thousand butterflies.

Some alight gently onto the floor

but others are whisked and whirled

Through angry winds

and the trees stretch and groan

as they bare their long limbs.

Autumn has come to play.

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