Andromeda

Raining golden leaves, remembering spring fondly, carry its hope away.

So, too, does the maple, so choked with green and ivy trails in the pregnant summer heat, that surely winter

We— imprisoned by tomorrow, sickened by the present, clawing at yesterday— live on, somehow.

I      wanted           to destroy      something,           and the      least           valuable thing      around           was me.

Why does      [infatuation     attraction     lust     loss     love]           drive us to poetry? What is it about      [line     rhythm     meter     rhyme]           that

Why,      when I speak of love, do I rhyme? Say Poetry is the heart,      the words a song, and rhyme

Crammed between My cold and shattered ribs, I've slathered mortar nice and thick. Build up the wall, I

juliescent /dʒuː-li-e-sent/ adj fierce resolve or devotion of youthful or naive persons When I dream, I'm seventeen, and

The birds will still be singing;      In the brush will lay a fawn. The clouds will burn and mellow      In