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You offered me this leaf

for fun.

With laughing eyes

you placed it gently on my palm.

The sun blazed out of sapphire

and threw white sparks

on brilliant green.

Like our love


You said.


Now separate from where it grew

As we must be

For a short but endless time.

But still our leaf would gleam

through golden days.

Like our love.


You said.


November leaves now soaked and brown,

fall lifeless from the trees.

Cold winds blow and expose the world

for what it really is.

I ease the sash and place our leaf,

now cracked and brittle, on the sill.

It rests a while then,

as frosty breezes play their games,

slips forlornly out of sight.

Like our love.


You should have said.

Michael R Chapman
~ master of none ~
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