Dead Leaves Talking
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Leaves are falling outside my window,
red stained
burnt orange and gold
floating down like swirling dancers
blood painted
ghosts of summer.
Listening I hear a tear and a cry,
quiet words
the leaves are talking
they whisper sadness at their passing
withering away
beautifully decaying.
Outside I gather many to my heart,
fragile colors
they sigh in my hands
oh don't weep I will save you
in my diary
I will press you.
All the cold winter you will be safe,
kept warm
between pages of words
until I open that page and you fall
decayed dead
brittle you fall apart.
___________________________
September 15, 2016
Poetry/Verse/Dead Leaves Talking
Copyright Protected, ID 16-829-310-0
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
For the contest, Leaves Talking
Sponsor, John Lawless
Fourth Place
Copyright © Constance La France | Year Posted 2016
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