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Click hereCalling me now,
The wind at my face,
A call to stop my
Hike and rest for
A moment.
And what joy,
To look upon a
Young birch tree,
Its leaves a flutter
Of sunlight!
In the Fall they will
Turn, and fall to the
Ground and rust,
And the hikers will
Pass them by –
So it always is.
This is fairly nice poem. Your line breaks could use a little reworking. :)