when the muse goes
what is left?
— only autumn
UPDATE: Hmm, maybe I could make this a little love poem:
when you go
what is left?
— only autumn
What do you think?
Andrew suggests:
when he goes
what is left?
— only autumn
Patia offers:
when you go
what is left?
— only love
From Cindy:
when he goes
what is left?
— dirty dishes
From Roger:
when they go
what is left?
— tranquility
From Liz Kirby:
When Autum goes
what is left?
— Another season.
Cathy has done something a little different, using my poem as the first stanza of a new piece:
when the muse goes
what is left?
— only autumnAnd from there-
you’ll let the worries
fall with the leaves.
Dave, following Cathy’s lead, offers:
when the muse goes
what is left?
— only autumn
each morning the once-
free leaves of grass
made to rime
by frost.
From Patrick:
only autumn
as you go
comes winter
From Kalamity:
When the muse goes
with the crows
what is left?
— only autumn
cool weather,
leaves and feathers
From mjones:
Look, the tree is red!
Look!
My son is enraptured.
Autumn needs no muse.
Have we begun another collaborative poem dance? Crows is my favorite post ever; let’s do it again! Use at least one line from a previous poem; leave your poem in the comments (or email me); and I will bring it up to add to the dance.
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