Fate, or: Folly

A Cywydd Llosgyrnog

A leaf blown high into the sky
lets out a wistful, knowing sigh:
"Well, goodbye, my dearest friends."
Distressed, his friends kick up a fuss:
"This shall not stand! He's one of us!"
Undone thus, all meet their ends.

36 thoughts on “Fate, or: Folly”

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