Autumn Movement in
General
I CRIED over beautiful things knowing no beautiful thing lasts.
The field of cornflower yellow is a scarf at the neck of the copper sunburned woman, the mother of the year, the taker of
seeds.
The northwest wind comes and the yellow is torn full of holes, new beautiful things come in the first spit of snow on the
northwest wind, and the old things go, not one lasts.
By Carl Sandburg
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