deepundergroundpoetry.com
The Black Leaves
Softly as the wind through beech
Bare feet tread upon the grass
The black leaves are out of reach
The ghosts of evening rustle past
An ice-cream jingle hits the graves
Unwanted as a winter's kiss
It drives on and far away
Leaving the nocturnal bliss
It kills me now that we're apart
Our love flew high and out of reach
Everybody dies of a broken heart
Softly as the wind through beech
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