In spring and summer,
They learn suppleness,
Scrolling across fields,
Sashaying and swaying,
Composing with the wind.
In autumn, they settle
Into various crimsons,
Flaring like sunsets.
They also rust
And stiffen or stoop
With the weight of seeds.
Now in winter,
They relax, letting
Rhizomes and memory
Stretch out underground.
Above the snow,
They clack and chatter,
Despite their tatters.
Some slouch back easily
Into yellow arcs,
And pale sun teases
Their empty tassels.
They've never been
So light-headed.
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