Very good Julie. How refreshing to see boulders make a star turn in an autumn poem --and no avalanche! I feel nature itself could do more to combat poetic prefigurement. An embargo of seasonal change would upend all red wheelbarrows. But are the leaves themselves the cliche, or is it the obligatory demise they must endure? I'm thinking maybe the latter.
Here are some title suggestions...
Ode to a Recalcitrant Green or maybe A Paler Shade of Green
Such a typecast being red
Green's the shade of the undead...
Last edited by Norman Ball; 10-13-2015 at 08:59 PM.
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