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Zsuzsa Rakovszky
Zsuzsa Rakovszky

…one of my favourite poems

They Were Burning Dead Leaves

by Zsuzsa Rakovszky

They were burning dead leaves. Must oozed with scent,

tar bubbled and blew.

The moonlight glow behind the thistle bent,

like a torn rainbow.


The street was like a forest, night slid into the heart

of deepest autumn.

A guilty music blew the house apart

with its fife and drum.


To have this again, just this, just the once more:

I would sink below

autumnal earth and place my right hand in your

hand like a shadow.



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