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Unsortables

The grass is green, the leaves are brown,
strewn all over on the ground.

The days go by week by week,
but happiness is all we seek.

Time creeps by slowly but surely,
the coldness coming a little early.

Things never stay the same,
like some sort of timing game.

Children smiling and laughing;
and running around,
the leaves drifting silently to the ground.

The next day comes soon,
along with another new moon.

The changes are hard to see, as if in hiding,
but if you watch, you will see a sign,
the smallest trace of a star guiding.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Written in 2000

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