FITZWILLIAM
IN AUTUMN



In autumn when the leaves are gone,
Stone walls appear on either hand.
Rude monuments to those who came,
To clear the woods and farm the land.

As you walk the roads beneath the ephemeral yellow of our maples, consider two questions...


Can you actually own a piece of land or do you only borrow it for a few short years?

What would those who first farmed the land expect of those who occupy it now?
For now at peace with all the world,
They rest in ordered rows,
Beneath their quilts of autumn leaves,
And silent winter snows.



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Copyright 2008 Frank Bequaert