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The pavement's autumn bronze drifts to the curb

Flowing to the gutter and the sludge

Of last night's rain.

Dying leaves cling near stark silhouettes

Of branches and abandoned nests above

The cemetery wall.

No bird song, just rasp of passing cars,

Slow lorries grinding on their way

Towards the ridge.

Brian Hick November 2014

©copyright Sally Hick 12.11.25