Autumn Movement
I cried over beautiful things knowing no beautiful thing lasts.
The field of cornflower yellow is a scarf at the neck of the copper
sunburned woman, the mother of the year, the taker of seeds.
The northwest wind comes and the yellow is torn full of holes,
new beautiful things come in the first spit of snow on the northwest wind,
and the old things go, not one lasts.
The field of cornflower yellow is a scarf at the neck of the copper
sunburned woman, the mother of the year, the taker of seeds.
The northwest wind comes and the yellow is torn full of holes,
new beautiful things come in the first spit of snow on the northwest wind,
and the old things go, not one lasts.
Carl Sandburg
I love this poem so much with its rich metaphors. It is beginning to be so true here. The leaves are turning and the ground is littered with scarlet and gold. I am teaching this poem tomorrow to a small group of reluctant boys and I have collected a fallen leaf for each to use as a starter. I also love this poem because my late grandmother was Carl Sandburg's biggest fan. I will read this tomorrow in honour of her.
cheers for Susie! I wonder whether the Carl Sandburg books are still there out at the farm.
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