Sonnet #275

Before they burn in autumn sunlight, they

will feast on candlestick trees, golden yellow

as the sun where the flowers feed their fellow

firebirds, to burn without a puff of smoke, they

eat a feast of sunlight, fly to heat, burn with no clouds

Cloudless Sulphur on the wind, the beating wings

Flicker brimstone, dead oak leaves falling

And these little golden flames fly proud

About the place; to decay is to burn a little

To feel the energy being peeled to gone

And in this gentle, slow fire’s spittle

New life follows seasons’ longest song

Where the leaves fall, brimstone butterflies flicker

And the ruins’ end comes quicker, quicker

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