alone

poem by me: because

winter creeps through the trees,
howling quietly to himself,
shaking the few remaining leaves
to see if he can strip the branches bare.

why does he this?
why do boys kick down towers of blocks,
then scatter the accidental pile left behind?
or the wind, spiteful,
blow all your papers about the room?

because he can, they can:
answer enough, though
we often wish it wasn't so.
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