Salvadore Ponce De Leon


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Dance, Dance, Dance

Sitting on the porch
Reclined in a wicker chair bearing the signs of it's age
I stare wistfully into the garden
Watching the grass, watching the flowers
Dance, Dance, Dance
They sway to the rhythm of the wind
I marvel at the leaves holding valiantly against nature
I see the dying leaves lose their battle with mother nature
They let go, flutter, swoop, drift to the ground

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