Today as I rode by
I saw the brown leaves dropping from their tree
In a still afternoon
When no wind whirled them whistling to the sky
But thickly, silently
They fell, like snowflakes wiping out the noon
And wandered slowly thence
For thinking of gallant multitude
Which now all withering lay
Slain by no wind of age or pestilence
But in their beauty strewed
Like snowflakes falling on the Flemish clay
Margaret Postgate Cole (1893 - 1980)
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