Maples throwing seeds
On the roof sounds like hail
But the ones that land among the weeds
Shall prevail.
Perhaps they're so loud
Because they take offense
At the tin-roof shroud
And our presence.
After the Question
Pretending we're normal,
While waiting for others
To say the right answer.
The silence is dismal.
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Hello, fellow writers! I love it when we can inspire each other and help one another grow. With this in mind, keep it friendly and on-topic.
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