the last sailor on Innocence
grasped at his own throat in demand of an explanation
as to what had happened to the loveliness of the lady
we had all loved
Now lost, he was last seen, standing caught in mid-thought
against the luxurious sweep of Autumn color,
vanishing behind a gust-crazed cascade of yellow leafs,
no more than one of which could ever have made it
as far as the distant sea
No love is lost.
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