The autumn sun sweeps
clean the street, forlorn no more.
Even the litter-born history,
so recently past, cannot withstand it.
We think we’re the true organisms,
that to us belong the spoils
of living, and yet,
such marionettes of weather,
our strings showing
in spite of all our efforts,
the sky like water,
our hearts like wind.
This last line gave me chills! Such a sweet poem. 🙂
Thank you. It was such a sweet day.