Men Come and Go like Leaves

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Men come and go like leaves, but I remain on the tree. Winter comes to claim me, but still I cling.

I am a needle, evergreen, sheathed in a shell of ice, waiting for the thaw of spring.

I will not let go and fall for this I know; it is a long way down and I am not a sparrow.
I cannot fly.

Once I have made my peace with the ground,
there I will stay with the others,
growing old,
turning brown.

January 10, 1997

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