Cassandra.

Author:Pastan, Linda
Position:Poem
 
FREE EXCERPT

There are so few of them at first a mere rustle on the wind with just a hint of red or gilt along their edges, and the mother woods are still green, and the sun still spills its molten light on upturned faces; no one worries if a few are falling-- they are simply grace notes, wisps of portent, though soon they turn acrobatic showing their bellies to the breeze, soon a few more wordlessly shake loose--early...

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