Do leaves look forward to autumn?
Do they twitch anxiously in anticipation
waiting to break free from from the tree?
Do they dream of sailing through the wind
hoping they can float all the way through the sea?
Or do they tremble in fear
hating the idea of leaving home?
Do they cling tightly to where they belong
too nervous to let themselves roam?
Is autumn like the end of school?
Or more like the end of youth?
Is it something to look forward to?
Or just an inevitable truth?
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