A leaf, yellow and green,
Falling on a quiet street, unseen.
October comes, the wind blows
flip and whirl across the stones.
If you smell burning leaves
that is their nostalgia.
And if you slip on crushed red gold
dampened in the cool
Don't curse
the shy September rain.
Remember the weeping
leaves learn from the willow,
They can't
stem their aching flow.
I pray that though you may slip
you never ever fall,
Their pain
you never know.
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