Climb the highest mountain, punch the face of god


I am the leaves of a tree not yet chopped down.
I am rustling in the wind of a bitter fall.
When I leap from the branches, I will spin
Dizzily out of control and to the ground,
Where I watch as the rest of the tree dies.
When I changed color, I was at my most beautiful,
But now that I am the color of rust, I am useful
Only to children who enjoy the crunch of fall leaves.


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