I’m hearing the leaves rustle

A song so often played without applause

And their dance continues wilder

more whirling then their music lets on

Do the young leaves dance the wildest

while the aged ones sing the loudest songs?

Perhaps their life goes only after they make their last sound

falling with a solo of crackles 

and then being crunched under foot 

or silently decomposing in the layered company of many muffled others

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