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What has passed

The leaves are turning now
Away back home
Nights are drawing in
Wood fires lit
Against late evening cool
Mists in early noon
Rolling over stubbled fields
From river turgid, slow
With a thousand remembrances
Yet here I am
Tied to the past
With pale recollections
To keep me sound
In this strange land
Of heat and dust and toil
KeptĀ  in motion
By unresolved yearnings
To return
To what I was


© 2018, Adrian North. All rights reserved.

Published inAutumnMemoryPoemRemembrance

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