I grow old… I grow old…
If that’s not poetry enough, what is?

And, I am running out of leaves and what remains trembles,
rattles at times, in the cooling Autumnal breeze
and the birds and the bees no longer trigger in me a ridiculous outburst of laughter, in fact what they perpetuate is beginning to seem a bit obscene.

Am I boring you yet?

Even my addictions are losing their sheen;
the sun, the water, those sly children who once desired my peaches.

I once heard them whisper on a summer day beneath the shade of my marquee.
Dare we… Dare we?
Do dare… Do dare! I hissed back, emphatically, with my leaves like lips shaping the mad thoughts into the air.

Do take the highest fruit from these silvering boughs
and take them far far far away from here.

But, oh no, no, no…they didn’t listen.
No way, No how!
after the taking of packaged sweets, and TV,
they just didn’t seem to give a damn anymore.

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