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About the Poem

I was walking around my college campus this last fall, through the leaves, and the smell of the leaves evoked this poem.

Olives

They say that the season of death is winter...
They are wrong.
It is the fall.
Fall is when everything dies...
Leaves turn and fall
Grass withers
Flowers fade.
They say the color of death is black...
They are wrong.
The colors of death are red
And brown
And gold.
When I'm walking alone
Through the leaves, I think on this.
I always thought that rotting leaves
Smell like olives.
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© 1999 Wendy Flora Please respect the rights of the author and Passions in Poetry. If you would like to use this poem on your own web page, please contact the Author. Thank you.

1 Visitor Comments

Bill
You put alot of feeling in this while you were out walking in the leaves is what it made it so great

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