the leaves of last fall lie crumpled and dead in the ditch
they crackle and creak under foot and I envy their talent for talking from the grave. they burned brightly in hues that delighted us and as a justly earned reward they lie down in pastures that will become green. the tree that abandoned them long forgotten. we burned brightly together for a moment before you let go of me like so much detritus but instead of sweet release, I was sentenced to life. I sit, therefore, in a ditch covering myself and contemplating last Fall's leaves.
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