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Julie Barnes
Poems
Oct 2015
Maturity of Leaves
The little ones go first they really don't know any better.
They huddle in groups and skippity hop along the ground.
The middle ones taunt the winds, thinking 'I can do this'.
Eagerly chastising the authority of time, and letting go for the hell of it.
The old cronies hang on with all the might they can muster until they gracefully, gently, sigh bye bye.
Written by
Julie Barnes
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