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October Ashes

By John I. Blair

Near Halloween here
The ash leaves fall
In golden drifts
On still-green grass.

Although the days
Are not quite crisp
Now I recall
Cold winter blasts.

Propriety says
To rake these leaves
In orderly piles,
To bag and haul.

But all I wish
Is just to keep
My heap of gold
Upon display
Until it rusts away.

2002 John I. Blair  

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