A trusting little leaf of green,
    A bold, audacious frost;
A rendezvous, a kiss or two
    And youth forever lost.
       Ah, me!
    The bitter, bitter cost.

A flaunting patch of vivid red,
    That quivers in the sun;
A windy gust, a grave of dust,
    The little race is run.
       Ah, me!
    Were that the only one.

Poems of Power by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Chicago : W. B. Conkey, 1902.

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