The bright yellow, veined thing
So alive looking, yet dead beyond help
Flutters from way above
The living green canopy
Lands in a pile of the warmest colors
Only to be whipped up by the wind again
Its star-points now dulling
To a much deeper brown
As it fades into non-existence
Yet it survives the winds and braves the cold
And finally lays down
To be crunchily stepped on
The bits lay there, dampened by the snow
And are further trodden upon
Nature takes its course
And the leaf becomes one with the ground
Part of the earth once more……
The leaf is dead.
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