The remaining leaves
covering the oaks and maples
are my memories of you -
hanging precariously,
waiting to fall,
(and to die).
They scatter and flake
like time, and
I love the way they sound -
crunching and rustling
with each step I take
(farther away from you).
A crimson beauty glides through the air,
landing at my feet.
The colours are beautiful
I am beautiful
(I finally realize)
A hundred million voices in my head
whisper goodbye.
Copyright © Catherine Young, 2007.
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