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Curves of branches from a dead like tree,
No leaves fall from it,
Yet it still grows endlessly.
Oh but there I see a simple life of green,
A single leaf struggling to stay its brightly emerald green,
Upon this dead like tree,
The wind pushes and howls at it to fall,
But its monstrous howls were no tempted to take it down.
How I do wonder if I am that one leaf,
That one that stood out and wanted nothing more then to survive,
But yet again as I look back up to the dead like tree,
To find that little green slowly floating down to me,
My brows arch in wonder,
For the wind have stop howling long before this little green began to stop surviving.
I lift a hand as it landed softly upon my palm,
Oh so slowly I look down upon such tiny green,
And wonder why as it stop surviving.
I wondered, and yet there was no answer.
A single soft touch of my finger caressed the veins of the little green and I found it wither by my touch,
This little green of leaf has turned into dust.
The wind howled once again,
Victory it has taken as the dust blew all about me,
And suddenly there was just me and this dead like tree.