Weekend Poem: Autumn Movement by Carl Sandburg

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.

Weekend Poem: The Muse by Anna Akhmatova

All that I am hangs by a thread tonight as I wait for her whom no one can command. Whatever I cherish most--youth, freedom, glory-- fades before her who bears the flute in her hand.