THE VIEW

It looks sunny & crisp

a steady wind shudders

the tiniest branches

& the stray leaves

that have somehow

clung beyond their deaths

past the first snows

the freezing rains

the hard winds of November

& still they hunker down

like an idea that won’t be shed

a page that can’t be forgotten

a melody that finds some empty

corner of your brain & settles

never to be dislodged

or

perhaps

it is someone forgotten

wasting on a clean bed

in an empty room

whose only view is mine

a bare tree

& a few brown leaves

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