Monday, November 27, 2006


I have to thank Adams for giving me a hand with this one ;)


When the dead pass,
they are beautiful.
Brown crispy leaves
fire blanket autumn,
rush about the sky
finely golden.

Bears descend into dark
dens where they will sleep,
their dreams connecting
dead with living.

Soon, we will all slumber. Death
in one final sweep will turn
colours, magnum yellow,
golden sun. The departed
will flutter finally
to their resting ground.

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