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New leaf,
fraying, fading past gold
from being turned over
a thousand-fold.
Why have you lost
that green sheen of promise,
the hope with which I plucked you?
Because I, by touching, destroyed.
Perfect Pythagorean patterns
(or was it Da Vinci),
now ruined by the inevitable need
of my striving, and falling short.
Oh new leaf!
I should have left you for another.
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Hi Derek, very profound. Sometimes our own expectations are too high for ourselves to attain.
Elizabeth, I really like that - I think the blows/hollows rhyme is really cool. So, I guess we both wrote poems about old leaves...
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