I Never Tried This Wisdom On Before


The sky could bluer be, but all is clean
from rain and crisp with autumn chill. The plants
deciduous have put aside their green,
as I collect the wisdom weather grants.

I’ve grown too old to wear confusion well.
I’m too mature to know what I believe.
I’m weary of my cadence when I tell
an old opinion, but myself naive
is tiresome beyond all other traits.
Now I will let that greenness fade in me
the way it fades in autumn leaves: creates
by time’s subtraction undercolor. Free
as turning leaves am I to wear my hues,
and wisdom is the color I will choose.

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