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Honey gold October sun
lights a caravan of leaves
drifting through crisp forest air.
Come December these trees
will wear coats of snow but
this morning, fall glows with
the reason we have the word
beautiful. And through all this
color my friend steers
his mountain bike, the tires
snapping brittle branches,
as he rides alone with love
of this cinnamon brown
morning, his one and only
moment to live between
yesterday and tomorrow.
© by Edwin Romond.
Used with the author's permission.
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Edwin Romond is a poet, playwright, and composer. Now retired, he taught English for more than 30 years in Wisconsin and New Jersey. Edwin's award-winning work has appeared in numerous literary journals, college text books, and anthologies, and has been featured on National Public Radio. His newest collection, Man at the Railing, from NYQ Books, recently won the Laura Boss Narrative Poetry Award. A native of Woodbridge, New Jersey, Edwin now lives in Wind Gap, Pennsylvania, with his wife. Learn more about him at www.edwinromond.com.
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Mal F Robertshaw:
This poem reminded me to send my mother pictures of the trees here and how beautiful they look and also to put cinnamon in my coffee
Posted 10/26/2019 10:45 AM
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Janet Leahy:
You take me on the bike ride, I can see the colors, feel the crisp air and hear the brittle branches break. Then the perfect ending, savoring the moment of love and beauty.
Posted 10/13/2019 10:34 AM
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Michael:
Brilliant work, Ed. Simple, well-crafted presentation that hits me where I live. I've felt the same things. The essence of great poetry.
Posted 10/13/2019 08:26 AM
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