Seven things I do not understand
The triange of geese above my head,
Flying in perfect form. Much unlike this poem.
Raspberries in autumn - 
Somehow still so tart this late in the season!
The pearl on my left-hand finger, promises made and to come
A wonder I cannot comprehend - and then - 
The kind longing this bring to every goodnight and goodbye.
The golden wash of the leaves aglow against the jewel of the sky. 
That, strangely, all this glory ushers in death with it. 

“See the leaves / Simple dying things / Never were so beautiful / Cause in their dying days / What a glorious change / For in death they turn to gold” – The New Song of Trumpkin, Sarah Sparks

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