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Rated: E · Poetry · Nature · #2095313
Relating life and death to the fallen leaf.

brown and rumpled,
slotted and sorted
by dewy blades of green,
soaking the arriving radiance;
refugees cloister,
purposed to mother.

I feel an autumnal tide
washing me out of summer.
Humidity shudders.
Breezes brush lines of linen
where a child once played
in fading light.
Mother calls me, too.

"While I'm Dying...(A Soliloquy?)
"Leaching The Soil
"Waken Me?
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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/2095313