Dropping from The Tree of Birth
Leaves of Life flutter
thin as paper swirling
into the abyss.
That thing we call Age passes,
And the leaves around us turn Colors
Few fall onto The Ledges
Fall a little faster,
The air turns stale
Sunlight and Breezes Die Brown
On leaves twirl
just to Crinkle Brown
in a pile on the bottom of
the Bottomless Abyss
© Copyright 2016 Mag Lady. All rights reserved.
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