The trees are undressing, and fling in many places—
On the gray road, the roof, the window-sill—
Their radiant robes and ribbons and yellow laces;
A leaf each second so is flung at will,
Here, there, another and another, still and still.
A spider’s web has caught one while downcoming,
That stays there dangling when the rest pass on;
Like a suspended criminal hangs he, mumming
In golden garb, while one yet green, high yon,
Trembles, as fearing such a fate for himself anon.
~Thomas Hardy “Last Week in October”
You may feel you are the only one
until you land in a cushion of others
But maybe you dangle suspended
twisting and turning in the slightest breeze
not knowing when the fall will come.
I know I’m both~
one alone suspended by faith,
hoping for rescue
while others pass me by ~~
another and another, still and still.
Held by a slender silken thread
until the moment comes
when I too am let go.
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