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stand: an autumn poem

i told the trees a secret

still lush from summer

still green with naivete

you will break apart again

just like every fall

just until you think you’ll die

but when the last of winter ebbs

you’ll be standing

your arms raised high and bare in victory

so don’t be afraid of change

like the cowards are,

like the ones afraid to fly.

Photo by Irina Iriser on
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