by NR Staff


Between the sunset and the window shade,

The maple leaves were quaking in the wind.

I saw the shaken shadows that they made

As if in fear — as if they were afraid

That soon a palling dark was coming on,

And that their shadows, trembling and unpinned,

Cast on translucency, would, in one black,

Fade fast and disappear. Then they were gone

In fact, and, I could see, would not be back,

No matter what the wind did, come the dawn.

Len Krisak

This poem appears in the March 6 issue of NR.

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