One November
I found a very slow
preying mantis
in the frost
on the bushes
in front of the house.
When I was young,
they seemed bigger than me.
Green, fresh, and strong,
like summer.
Now I see
the compass of their season.
I have lived
for fifty-two summers
with enough brains
to wear a coat in the cold
but not yet enough heart
to don the wrap of Ecclesiastes.
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