by Pich Nettra | April 24, 2018
Poetry Contest 2018
Still LeavesI stood beside my windowsill And looked beyond the quiet roadThat separated desertsAnd lead us to our homesFar and long, the pathway leadTo mountains full with leaves that said,"Rustle, rustle," again and again,"Come through this way, and find the road's end."But here, I'll stayBehind the hillsAmong the desert, standing stillWhere cacti collideAnd mountains divideThe world between meAnd the rustling leaves.  
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