Fall
by Mark Kenny

    One day last week
    I left my house
    To find God on my lawn.
    The red and orange tongues of flame
    Leapt, danced and flew,
    And the tree was not consumed.
    Today only ashes are left,
    Strewn around the base.
    The withered dark twigs, though, remain
    Reaching up as if to praise him
    For their moment of splendor.






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