Dancers

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  • Nature

    Dancers

    Like the orchestra
    before the curtain rises,
    the autumn winds tune up.
    They cue the actors,
    who change from uniform green
    into their glorious costumes
    of candy-apple red,
    sunset purple, and pumpkin orange.
    Backstage, they begin to rustle
    and stretch, partnered with the wind.
    Whirling, twilring, floating,
    keeping time with the seasons.
    They gracefully bow,
    anticipating the applause
    of winter.

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    A poem begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness. It finds the thought and the thought finds the words.

    Robert Frost (1875-1963) American Poet.

    MarieElizabeth’s Poems (4)

    Title Comments
    Title Comments
    Dancers 0
    July 16 1
    A Lesson 0
    Ode to Data 0