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The green imagination of the forest
Turns to thoughts of death
In red and gold, yellow and orange
Filtered in dappled light
Flickering through leaves
On the water rippling
Down the stream

A long red-brown leaf rolled
Into fountain pen shape

On the trail at my feet

Could I but pick it up
And transcribe this moment
This shimmering wonder

But

It would crumble and fall to
Pieces in my fingers

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