Wherever I look, my view is blocked
By things man made.
Nature’s world no more.
Gentle breeze pushing palm leaves down
It goes up, down and up and down.
The window panes hold ugly glass
Attempts to flow and merge with leaves.
It can’t, for softness merges not
With colours eye-biting dead.
The eyes run back to the world of leaves
Bouncing, flying freely under the sun.
Sap green, yellow and yellowish brown
Some dark green, shooting out of the stalk.
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