It turned yellow,
From the green
Fom which it was born of
Slawly growing
Many cornered
Living into the summer,
On the tree decorating
Slowly turning red,
Getting deatched
At the stem,
Fell on the earth
With the heaviness
Of the snow it carried,
Then wafting in the wind,
Turning the side
Carried away with the snow
To clear the road
Whereby it lived
And died silently by.
Ravikiran Arakkal
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