as they walk to the park,
she notes the brown leaves
that crunch under her boots.
the way they come fresh green,
then crumple.
when people step on them.
just like when she started to crumple
when the girls at school 'stepped' on her.
YOU ARE READING
astronomy•poetry
Poetrythese poems are for the lonely, forgotten, the lost poets at three am, and everyone else in between cover credit: -sidjenkins
