Ode of Leaves

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Crisp, curled in cocoon
of Winters O! Scattered falls,
the dry allures.
Thee roll carpeted yellow brown.
Silenced Streets with
the Song of thy sounds.
In dry she turned now.
Her nature wherein thee stay wrapped
every then, will be of her’s.
New forms reside.
The nuances belong to,the now dry.
Dropped from thy highs.
Flat, some curled, some untouched
and crushed, thee lie.
Thee descend to thy begin.
In time, spring again in thy highs.
-Manvendra Vidyarthi
(The Stories beneath the eyes.)

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