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Leafy
(a poem about Warwickshire)
I forget to remember…
The scent and feel
of Warwickshire leaves
when I depart.
I forget their art.
Their shape
And the colour
Of the blur as they quake.
Discontent leaves made
the earth of home.
Warwickshire’s swirling
is its own.
Every tree has itself grown
In the forests and fields;
Each leaf falls alone
and forms the foundations
On which we thrive and roam.

Photo by Aaron Burdenon Unsplash
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