A Leaf in the Woods
—A Sonnet—
I dwelt one season, fastened to the bough,
Till autumn's breath divulged my hidden name;
The oak released the covenant we avowed,
And bade my little sovereignty to flame.
I voyaged where the fern rehearsed the rain,
Past lichened stones that kept green books of moss;
Each root composed, through every amber vein,
A slower scripture no man's foot could gloss.
Yet falling proved no forfeiture of place:
The forest hoards the harvest of its loss.
The brook translated gold to dark embrace,
Till silence learned the cadence of the moss.
Now spring unfolds where none have witnessed me—
I bloom as rings the living heart of tree.
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