You Are Not The Wind
P Paul Hartal
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One summer day
Walking on a sunlit street
I plucked a leaf from a tree.
“Why did you do that? ” she asked.
“Just playing”, I said.
“Don’t harm the trees”, she said.
“They have their own life”.
“But the wind yanks leaves all the time”,
I averred defensively.
She gave me a pensive look.
“But you are not the wind”,
She said.
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