Leaves stayed on trees
Never did they fall or stray
Or in wind become child’s racing play.
Fell they not on ground
Orange red or dressed in golden brown;
No leaves raked in circle round
For young hearts to jump and bound.
Never had they had the crave
To leave the mother tree
Never had they faith to see
Where they could go, what they could be,
the warming coal upon the night,
a glow from within the Earth, a diamond bright
They didn’t know if flung together
They’d grace the earthen floor.
In their brown, they’d crunch and hatch
To be not one,
but a hundred pieces more.
Not a wind could tease them to take a path
to detach selves from oaken branch;
Leaves could not kiss the soil
or bathe in their sunlit oil.
No rainbows in puddles,
No shelter for Easter egg
No swishing sound in the woods
No leaves to beg notice
of their colorful range.
No Autumn to fall upon starving artist.
But as always, there’s at least one rebel in the crew
That is a little pesty and a little risky
A little drunken on life and maybe a little whiskey
Who explores beyond the tree
Splattering soft energy and Fall color
upon a tapestry.
[This message has been edited by Sadelite (04-17-2004 12:45 PM).]