Leaves
They are simply an echo.
Of ancient life we used to know.
They are called “leaves.”
They soon abandon the trees.
Covered with snow.
In winter we know,
That they are underneath.
Some poking out like teeth.
In spring, they seem to reappear.
But they were always here.
Floating in a puddle.
Or in a pile, they huddle.
Through the air, they hurdle.
Only to be eaten by a turtle.
They are leaves but they never left.
There is no need to feel bereft.
Trees will always provide.
Leaves that feel like a prize.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
