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Story Sundays Poem: Fallen Leaves

Are soldiers in line

Who battle the bitter wind

Before snow conquers

 

Crumpled, dead, broken

On the yellow grassy plain

Looking at the grey

 

And a snowflake, white

Pierces its skin and covers

The dead, no trace left.

 

 

 

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This entry was posted on November 1, 2014 by .
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