Marcescence is when leaves refuse to fall
They’re dead and dry and yet they still hang on
A simile for things that we recall
Like memories we thought were done and gone
Our memories are leaflet buds in Spring
And Summer’s green that rustle in the wind
It’s Autumn, yet some memories will cling
Marcesant memories we can’t rescind
And now that winter’s knocking at the door
We see these ghosts when branches should be bare
Marcesant leaves persist a little more
As if they know they’re dead but just don’t care
Know this, that memories are subtle thieves
That give us nothing but marcescent leaves.
This entry was posted on Saturday, November 26th, 2022 at 8:01 pm and is filed under Sonnets. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed.
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