Softly I fall.

Once fresh and vivid green with

flushed pink cherry blossom petals

dancing at her side.

The small leaf was transformed

by autumn. Her soul the

deepest red of a dying heart.

Winds charged past her,

in a twirling swirl of immediate

urgency.

Each gust pulling her

toward a subtle breeze.

Each breeze pushing her back

toward the growing storm.

Will she ever stop falling?

Will the soft breeze ever catch her?

A constant cyclone

as she transforms and withers

into a  winter leaf.

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