The leaves are blossoming.

The time of lime green ripeness is here.

They cling onto the branches,

Their tips winnowing in the gentle breeze.

The few leaves which cling no longer,

Rustle on the floor

And are swept away at dusk.

The branches continue to shake

And the leaves, in their vitality and freshness,

Partake in the knowing, changing course.

The nes...

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