It’s for everyone
But me
Because it’s not me
The little bits that fall away like autumn leaves
To be raked and burned
Save for some of them that pile up in a quiet place and rot
In time I will go there with seed
And watch as I rise like John Barely Corn
That tree will be mine
I will rest in its shade
And eat of its fermented fruit
And laugh as the leaves blow away across another autumn
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