a need for speed
to shake more branches
spread more seed
no time to play and poke
she never spoke
but laid the red-gold leaf
beneath a young, young oak.
Other leaves were there
to welcome her
in a rustle, they spoke
beneath the little oak
as the wind blew them around and
under and over
and made of them
a very fine cover
so winter’s chill could not creep
too deep
and damage young oak’s roots
and disturb daffodils’ sleep.
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