I CRIED over beautiful things knowing no beautiful thing lasts.

The field of cornflower yellow is a scarf at the neck of the copper sunburned woman, the mother of the year, the taker of seeds.

The northwest wind comes and the yellow is torn full of holes, new beautiful things come in the first spit of snow on the northwest wind, and the old things go, not one lasts.

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2 Comments

  1. a lost widow says:

    I thought this poem gave great, in-depth subjects. I thought it was clear as to what it was trying to portray. I think it was trying to smell like dead babies cuz thats the smell i smelt when i was reading it. Although it could be all the dead babies i have next to me. W/E.

  2. beatrice says:

    it is a beautiful poem.showing the change in leaves and flowers and then relating it to the change that will happen to humans as they grow older.it also relates to the characters in “the outsiders” as well

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