Leaves tell me where,
You come from
And where you go.
You roll hither,
And thither,
In the breeze,
On the trees,
Then on the ground,
Without a sound.
I think you have a mission,
I think you know from the start,
Your lives on the trees,
Look like pretty art.
But you seem to know,
When the winds blow,
That you are nature's,
Personality.
You leaves are the forest's
Afterglow.
You are nature's gift.
You are the most beautiful green.
The greenest green,
Of my dream.
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a poem by one who listens the sounds of nature! a beautiful poem...! ! !