Leaving
You didn't really say goodbye to me,
As you, waving your hands and half-pouting,
Barely even glanced at me, then left.
At the time, who knew these moments were numbered?
I swear I saw your complexion turn to a rustic sunset,
As fall dawned on me, and realized that your winter is nearing,
One did not know that you were a leaf,
Nor did one expect that you would be leaving so soon.
Leaving is what leaves do, and
I now dread seeing you any more than I have to,
All I can hope for is your goodbye;
The fates are unkind if that is all there is for one to hope.
They say leaves fall before it gets cold.
Nay, it will grow colder upon your leaving,
I still dream that you magically turn into a branch, or bark, or root,
Or that at least, I too would be a leaf, and fall with you
Unto this earth, as it prepares to dream its better dreams.
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