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Poetry

August mornings


I have seen tree leaves twist in the air, as they dance to meet the earth
Brown, some red, some still green; but all rushing to touch the ground
The floor is littered, a gathering of old and fresh tree leaves lay on the dirt
And why they fall, they won’t say, but when they do, they seem extremely glad

Apples and much citrus hang on branches, dangling with the soft air
The wind push fine dust up to meet the fruits, powdering their faces with it
When the apples hang on the branch they gossip about the tree leaves that sail, 
They are happy with the Wind and her queer entourage of fine dust

Morning sun, the herald of a new day, of a new beginning and new tidings, 
Rise from the hills behind, throwing her colorful hues upon the sleepy town
In her might she draws, casts and paints the people, flora, fauna: everything, 
Enjoying moments she passed falling tree leaves, ones that sailed through the cloud

By Oke Iroegbu

Finance Graduate, Bibliophile and Bard of Ovim, his hometown. Read more at www.oiroegbu.com/about

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