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About This Poem
The Last Leaf
Lord, I would find no delight in being,
That last leaf left on the family bough.
Observing you, the father of all time,
Extracting other hands from their plow.
For I've long experienced the heat of day,
After squinting at your sun's early rise.
I've seen the horizon swallow it, knowing,
That at my sun's terminal set, awaits a prize.
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