Leaves
Leaves falling from the trees.
Birds saying don't desert us
please.
But leaves say we must go.
By now you should know.
As they scatter all over, the place.
Golden + bright they glitter.
Why do they say, sweep me up,
sweep me up.
When they gather at my door.
I take a brush in hand.
I am not a happy woman.
Mr. Breeze could you be kind.
Go blow your leaves another mile.
Poem borrowed from Poems by Trudy Blake (1991)
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