Redemption
S Sandra Fowler
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The old man and his dog hunted sunset.
Autumn painted their flight on windowpanes.
Gilt edged the paling outline of their forms.
Peach rimmed the cold hill with the light's good-bye.
There is a certain fineness in consent.
Fall took them and they never once looked back.
I think it must be better farther on.
I picture their redemption in the clouds.
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