Poetry

Worn Shoes (draft)

Silver leaves fall

as the delicate slippers

pass, lightly tapping

through the long tunnel

bejeweled with diamond trees.

A shadow seeks

the fleeing twelve; invisible.

Gathering golden branches

and golden cups

to bring stone conclusion

before the blood majesty,

its weight weakens youthful

rows, but still does not

prevent the shoes

of evening grace

be danced through.

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