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The Literary Groong - 12/06/2008

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	By Varoujan Froundjian

	Tell me something.
	Do you like the fall?
	Do you like the fall when the trees exhale haze and hues?
	The trees change their dress. Begin to undress.
	It's time to be naked. Naked with the sun.
	The yellow sun. The pink sun and the violet.
	As a breeze passes through the arms of hefty trees.
	A leaf. A lonely leaf.
	Drops gently off a twig.
	This is the time for separation.
	Spring is only a memory.
	The heated days of August have gone away.
	The leaf. Is going down.
	But before it goes down.
	It has to sail along the wind.
	Along the sidewalks of morning sunlight.
	The leaf sails by other leaves.
	"Good-Bye" says the leaf.
	There, there is a commotion.
	Last minute packing and disorderliness.
	Leaves are chirping like the birds who wish them well.
	The birds will fly to warm places.
	The leaves will die.
	Only to chink an ancient chime as a child runs nearby.
	The leaves will be happy then.
	That even in their death the nature will dazzle with color and hope.

	We are travelling east to Massachusetts.
	We will watch the leaves change their colors.
	And die.
	As we munch on donuts.
	Behind the windshield.
	I remind my kids.
	Open the windows.
	Smell the purple leaves.

Varoujan Froundjian directed several plays in Armenia, Cairo and
Unites States. He frequently writes for the Armenian Reporter
International and his poems have been published in anthologies
produced by

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