I see brown leaves drooping, burn marks in the bark,
the populated gala, ignorant in the park.
...With obliviousness, boots are crushing-
the dreaming leaves that died before.
Wild roots, a strewn abroad,
rot from tip to base, a sad sad song.
...And the core
it's weeping, a noise severe that ears can't hear,
painful howling from the wood,
that individual ears misunderstood.
Yet over...
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