With
purple leaves, has nicely grown
And
though my thumb is far from green,
It
clings to staying on the scene.
New
shoots sprout up when old ones die,
A
never-ending stem supply
Of
trefoil leaves that nod and dance
When
breezes give them half a chance.
At
night, they close themselves up tight,
A
sight that brings me much delight.
I’ve
never caught them in the act;
Perhaps
we’ve made a silent pact.
Yet
once the daylight’s lit the sky,
With
sunbeams glowing from on high,
The
leaves pop open in their way
To
greet another brand-new day.
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