Mydriasis

whispering silence,
murmering to the high-lands.
Often singing,
songs of purity,
songs of the older days,

Head in hands,
this is not a phase,
there is no change,
life really is that strange

Let the leaves fall,
Watch them turn colors,
Yellow, orange, fire red,
but all to brown again.

Green comes from all of these,
as long as there is blue,
that is the creation.
The creation of me and you.

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