Taking My Leave
I will take my leave with the rain,
When the trees are bent from the weight,
And with the last lifeless leaf to fall,
Turning the ground to icy yellow gold.
I will take my leave without the sun,
Just as it sets in an almost darkened sky,
In the final stroke of autumn's earthy brush,
To be carried off before winter's stark white.
No wishful and woeful words will awaken me,
No light, no warmth will revive my cold frame,
Taking my leave, relieved, to the dirt dark and dank
From a life I have grown too weary to have known.
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