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Blood red maple leaves
Sprinkled in my path,
A homage to honor you.
The smell of rain on grass,
Sorting out my mind—
A rage to curb in me.
The color
notwithstanding,
All my silent energy
Sent to you
Across the earth’s pivot;
Am I a religious bigot—
For wanting you back?
I collect the leaves
To stash in the phonebook.
Don’t look.
--Dawn
Marie Yankeelov ‘06
Annmarie Campbell
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