TRANSITION
Reading edition
The rose leaves fall on Summer’s pulsing breast, In crimson showers they’re lightly blown along; The south winds rock the blue bird’s dainty nest Filled to the brim. Glad is the streamlet’s song. An empty nest sways on a leafless bough; Hushed is the gurgling laughter of the stream; And by the garden path a folded rose Shuts closely in its heart an unborn dream. Beth Slater Whitson.