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by Ophelia about a year ago in nature poetry

in the end.

I like to think that it happens this way:

that the tree fights mercilessly with the wind,

holding on until it chooses the time

that is right

to drop her leaves

in her own time

and only then

does the tree release itself

to nature, with a gentle cathartic tug

and in one blissful swoop the leaves drift down and away.

Then the wind hangs itself in defeat

among the air, maybe not with the air but in it, and says

"I will try again next year."

While the tree, still stretching its branches upwards

with pride but peace, replies softly

"I'll be here."

nature poetry


creator. dreamer. writer. believer.

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