Without You
At morn the leaves were just green,
When I was just seventeen.
At the bench I sat in vain,
Till sunshine chased the rain.
As green leaves turned to gold,
Softly the colours manifold.
Now, old auburn tree rustles,
But the branch no more hustles
19 August 2021
Your Pick Again Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Brian Strand
Copyright © Jcb Brul | Year Posted 2021
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