Genevieve Taggard

Indian Summer

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In that day
Everyone will sing,
Everyone will play in that day;
There will be carolling.

You will make poems for your neighbor's child;
Woods will grow wild.

In that day
Men will not pray,
Men's hearts will never know
Struggle and woe.
Lovers will be
Simple and free;
On warm fall nights, men's sweethearts will conceive.

No one will grieve,
No one grow gray;
Feet will not go
Wandering, in that day,
Save on one quest
Older than they:
Across one threshold–an unbidden guest.

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