Song
The feathers of the willow
Are half of them grown yellow
Above the swelling stream;
And ragged are the bushes,
And rusty now the rushes,
And wild the clouded gleam.
The thistle now is older,
His stalk begins to moulder,
His head is white as snow;
The branches all are barer,
The linnet's song is rarer,
The robin pipeth now.
~~
Richard Watson Dixon (1833-1900)
from Songs and Odes, 1896
[Poem is in the public domain worldwide]
Richard Watson Dixon biography
Paul Lakin, Autumn Willow, November 2014. CC BY 3.0, Wikimedia Commons.
Aging... autumn, comes to mind. A verse or two could be added here, "The feathers..." "The thistle..." "The blossoms of the daisies..." "The blades of grass now sallow..." an unhealthy or pale brown color... Nice share George thank you! 💟💟💟💟💟💟
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