These Leaves Are Boats
these leaves are boats falling
then passing me by,
spring’s shower, the tides,
I brace for the ride
my chosen vessel, the oak leaf
stems supple
both sides hardy,
there’s just enough room
to fit me
the streams run past Blackheath Standard,
I’ll set sail south for Depford,
the parting of the rivers bleed into Chelsea,
when the rain comes again
I’ll be washed away,
which is fine with me
because I have no real
place to stay
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