The Leaves of Autumn
must feel tired and fragile.
They’ve made it through
three seasons of hanging on tightly
only to have no control
over losing their green,
falling to the ground,
and crunching under hurried feet.
I tremble in the wind
at the hand of some unseen disease.
See through and crumbling
in the shuffle of life.
Having no control
over my slipping grip.
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