Saturday, 3 October 2015

poem 87

This shape writes history of leaves, 
again each one a memory of today. 

And this wind shakes them from trees,
where, they fall golden on paths to stray.      

And again it takes my breath away, 
how nature turns beauty of a fold.
          
Remember I chose a leaf for you,
now a poem pressed to a book.

And remember as I read it's veins to you, 
your head slept peaceful, upon my chest.

And now its memory waiting for spring,
for life's new lovers to bud as new 

And where the leaves will embrace the sun again

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