Tip-Toe feathers
Scared to make a sound
Amidst the harsh wind,
A fragile skeleton
Of an autumn leaf
Lies untouched
And all is turning
To an era yet to be labelled
As anything, yet.
A generation, lost
Within the fast lanes and
tracks of uncertain value;
Steadily losing all
sense of direction
Let alone ultimate destination.
Finding your way
amongst silent leaves and
harsh winds
Is unnerving, to say the least.
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