Les Feuilles Mortes

Philippe Robert, "Feuilles d'automne"
Philippe Robert, “Feuilles d’automne”
Yes, the leaves die as they go golden,
this does not speak to me of death,
as hand-in-hand we walk below bowers
          which colour
     the world’s bright defiant grave.
Tombs carry promise, still dormant – a longing –
hidden by these shrouds of weak foresight –
then, like colour transfigured in a shower of gold,
          soon to sing,
     “Death, where’s your victory? Your sting?”

Published by Matthew Pullar

Teacher, writer, blogger, husband, father, Christian. Living in Wyndham in Melbourne's west, on the land of the Kulin Nation. Searching for words to console and feed hearts and souls.

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