Words to Move the Spirit
Late October
Maya Angelou
Carefully
the leaves of autumn
sprinkle down the tinny
sound of little dyings
and skies sated
of ruddy sunsets
of roseate dawns
roil ceaselessly in
cobweb greys and turn
to black
for comfort.
Only lovers
see the fall
a signal end to endings
a gruffish gesture alerting
those who will not be alarmed
that we begin to stop
in order simply
to begin
again.
The Same as Gold (an excerpt)
Alice Walker
Now that I
Understand
That grief
Emotionally speaking
Is the same
As gold
I do not despair
That we are
All of us
Born to grieve
