To walk among the leaves,
and lie upon the grass,
To dream of climbing trees,
and know this all will pass.
Leaves will wither and fly,
grass will suffer in cold,
Trees remain after I
will die from growing old.
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6 comments:
Lovely- you put such wellmade sweetness up sometimes
But what happens if you get hit by a snowplow?
The trees will still remain. And hopefully I will see it coming or someone will tell me to mind it.
mind the snowplow
Isn't that Ben's line?
pretty little thing you pretty little thing.
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