Fall

by John MacBeath Watkins

Like some uncharted evening
at some unbalanced ball,
the dancers are all leaving
changing colors as they fall
and trees bare limbs are reaching
for anything at all.

Hibernating bears are grieving
for the departure of our sol,
old men's knees are creaking
as they struggle through cold halls
and the migrant birds are seeking
asylum from the fall.



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