At once leaves
Scurry
Into an opening of oak.
The wind remains still,
Here and over there.
Remember to keep your fingernails clean
When out you go foraging
Otherwise you could end up
Having to wash dishes
On some weary Sunday evening.
Once
There was a mother
With blood at the corners of her mouth.
Once there was a father
Who grew obscene amounts of hair
All over his rough, lumbering body.
They remember a time
Before recycling bins and alarm systems.
When leaves fell freely,
Scattering like fossilized tears.
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