The Afterlife of Leaves
The parade of endless colors is over,
All the leaves are dead or dying.
Scurrying about like frantic crabs.
Back and forth across an icy-icy land.
Clinging along the fence line of time.
Swirling about cul-de-sacs and doorways.
Like gothic teens with little reason to shine.
...but unchained from their master's paradise.
Unchained from the dance of emerald lies.
Soon these bronzed, arthritic children
will wrinkle into oblivion.
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