it has a shape beautiful as nature can be,
its design splendidly recreated over and over again,
to blend with the morning sun and the set,
how the wonder it can catch a dew drop but still fly with the wind,
at times colours itself to an imaginary palette of shades,
only to wilt and fall,
no one is different in it,
for it returns to where it came from,
and yet there is one more budding,
is there a joke in this, i ponder
for leaf is just a leaf.
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