Autumn Leaves
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The leaves where colour now has bled,
The green, the brown, the gold, the red,
As they volunteer to fall, to shed,
Are they dying, or, already dead?
Their swan-song, saying, look at me,
I sacrifice myself, to save my tree,
The leaves where colour now has bled,
The green, the brown, the gold, the red.
Copyright © Clive Blake | Year Posted 2022
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