Purple Aster by Sara Tusek

Autumn field: the golden grasses
(ripened grains like burnished brasses)
twist and writhe as crisp wind passes.

Tucked within the gaudy glimmer,
purple petals shift and shimmer,
casting shadows (slightly dimmer),

tempering the brassy flashing
(Summer’s grand triumphant crashing

celebration of its birthright)

just before the purple twilight.


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