Withering pieces
Sourround the soul
Waiting.... Exhaling as the world flows by
Longing for the day it will
Bloom into a much adored symbol of life
As the leaves fall closer to the ground
A foggy mist creeps by
And clouds it's descending joy
Each passing day creates such disease
That kills the color from the surface
Until the day of fresh Spring air
It sits and wonders in such despair
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