Old Leaves
If magic in the leaves could speak,
On gusty mid-fall days, at peak.
While colors swirl and twirl about;
If leaves could only shout words out.
“Come quickly here and watch our show;
The last we’ll do before the snow.
The last we’ll give in crimson dress;
Come here and see we’re at our best.”
And as we watch them do this feat,
The hand of God is poised to sweep,
The merry, trembling, foolish leaves,
From all the steadfast, somber trees.
He gives them beauty far surpassed,
This special time, their first and last.
For on the morrow they will lie
In barren wood, left there to die.
Their colors gone and in that space,
Shades of dismal brown replace.
All crispness in their texture slain,
By soggy nights and chilling rain.
From this time forth their doomed to lie
Beneath the ever changing sky.
Till winters, springs and summers pass,
And they meld with the earth at last.
Then feed the soil from whence life springs,
The sapling, fern and all green things.
They've done their work and did it well;
They shaded first, then danced and fell.
Lets now think on of springs to come,
As young green leaves revere the sun.
Salute those old leaves, drum and fife,
For they helped bring new leaves to life
09/16/2016
Copyright © Diane Lefebvre | Year Posted 2016
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