It rains but it won’t grow,
and the sun is out but it won’t grow,
and the branches are bare
Gone are those warm, emerald
leaves of summertime,
gone.
And I wish I had them in my pockets,
so many that they trailed behind me while I walked,
blowing out in the wind.
I wish a leaf for everyone,
one to keep them dry and warm and soft,
even if it leaves me none.
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