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We the Leaves
America is a golden tree
With roots of daring democracy,
and branches of bravery, spiralling high,
Reaching out to the limitless sky.
America is - no, was- the land for me.
I remember when the sapling grew
Cleansing the old world with the new.
Watered by the flames of revolutions,
Sunned by cries from across the oceans.
America shines- no, shined- of the true.
And all of us were leaves, painting the sky,
With unique colors that did defy
The cold and silence of olden days.
Our leaves shone like golden rays,
America’s hopeful hues flying high.
But the winter storm of ’16 blew in,
Killing our freedom with lies and sins.
Promises were made, made to break.
Eagles’ calls trumped by tweets of hate.
America dying in the wailing wind.
An axman sauntered up to the aging bark,
with lies, sex, corruption, tore it apart.
Our leaves trembled under each blow.
Yet still, we hoped he’d give up and go,
But he chipped away, hacking through the dark.
First, our love-red leaves drifted to fall.
My laughing cousins, and my uncle tall.
My friend whose laugh fluttered away,
Fading as the tree began to sway
Under the whispers of dividing walls.
Then, the orange leaves, bright as the sun,
drifted down. My neighbor and his son,
The old man playing guitar on the street,
Who I’ll never really have the chance to meet.
One by one, their leaves began to run.
The yellow leaves flittered to the ground,
My dance teacher, warm, kind, and round,
The new kid at school, whose dark, hidden eyes
Held pains of the past, and hope for sunrise.
They faded to brown, never to be found.
Finally, the brown leaves, left to cling
fell. Our home will never hear mom sing,
Or hear dad laugh deep, timber, and loud,
Or my brother, whose brains made us proud.
They’re gone, ‘cause Liberty’s bells don’t ring.
America is like a tree. It grows to die,
But we never thought we’d see its end nigh.
The winter wind blew all of us away like
Leaves left in the ground, and there we’ll lie
Until the night gives to a bright, new sky.
The leaves fell from America’s dying tree,
But so did the seeds, like you and me,
Who’ll burst, growing till new branches high
Touch the skies to hear eagles’ cries.
America is dying, but it’ll grow again.