Odi et Amo


Sprigs in rust, gold, and yellow
are filling the meadows.

Falling leaves
are hurrying to kiss
the crying ground
notwithstanding what abounds.

In a cold murder
of a dream to be together,
the sole fatality is a wistful bliss.
Gusty winds are accomplice.

Forsaken trees sing elegy,
while dead Heart gives its own eulogy:
“Odi et amo-” its closing verse,
making the Grasshoppers mourn,
while the crickets are speechless.
They’ve never seen
that much tears


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