As I clutched the lower
Reaches of an elm tree
This October eve
Recalling for a wink
The olive-green
Dreams of the springs
Of the kid in me
I looked askance
At the sickly leaves
And through the breeze
They whispered back to
me:
“Do you chance to know
Where we’ve erred
To deserve to wither
And lose our vigor
And go so early!”
Ali H. Raddaoui
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