Ruffles branches
Of trees guarding the backyard
Bamboo leaves hum softly
As they dance
Perched on a light pole
A lone sparrow
Courageously chirps
To hold back autumn
Beyond the brickwall
Morning traffic reveberates
Overhead a silver plane
Heads northwest
Its shape an arrow
Piercing the underbelly
Of earthy clumps
Of clouds
Old people claim
They can feel the change
Of seasons
In their aching bones
That’s something
At least I don’t yet feel
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