Is It Poetry (1958 - / Bus-Boys And Poets, Washington D.C.)
Watching, Leaves Fall
The oaks are full of acorns
why the wind blows at this time of day
it is morning.
She I hear her magic voice
as it falls upon my ears.
Looking at all the old oak trees.
How many were here, when she was?
She is gone and they aren't.
Sara Teasedale knows now, why I love her.
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