Rust (a traditional poem)

The earth rusts once a year,
in the air adheres a crust
of dark orange;
All is dusky
with shimmering decay;
The land is surprised
by its somberness,
but does not fight;
The glowering sky
cast shadows
in dying light;
There is no
cowering or fright
in the carpet
of darkened canopies;
The air sucks water
from noble
glowing leaves;
The trees shout
in stunning silence;
The earth
does not mourn
this tender violence;
In this cadence
of seasons
incubates birth;
In blankets
of molds and dirt,
the dust
knows its reasons

c. 2001, 2008 Evan Gilling


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