New Tomorrow?

It feels as though I let you all down,

The grey cloud above the perfect town,

A caterpillar who won’t become a butterfly,

Silent nothings that haunt your battle cry.

Patches of frost on newly bloomed rose,

A tiny hole in your beautiful new clothes,

The ugly duck in a lake filled with swans,

Decaying rust that muddies antique bronze.

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The Autumn Trees.

As she sits on her chair watching the leaves change,

The feeling of joy seems somewhat strange,

People below are always to busy to notice,

Its beauty is being appreciated by the poetess.

All she can see is the magnificent autumn trees,

How they dance in the slightest hint of a breeze,

The road below her is busy and congested,

But when she stares out she always feels rested.

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