When We Take Our Leave

If a leaf fell in the forest

would you hear the sound of it?

Would it’s still small voice

turn your ear to its descending color?

 

Before the fall, they hung in piles

upon the air, green and greener veins

sipping life out of the twig tips.

They clapped their hands upon the wind.

 

Now burnished and fainting, they blush

and leap on breezes that speak

of new seasons, changes that come

when they lay themselves down.

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