The poem with a lot of names
The leaf looses its grip
afraid it looks above ;
High over, the branch is getting smaller and smaller
and in the meantime
the crown of the tree is whispering softly
while the leaf quiet falls down
forward - backward
becomming one
*
the top is released
it is floating
Poetry by Adeleine
Read 455 times
Written on 2007-07-15 at 15:59
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