The Gift
A gust of wind
Blew through my door
Placing gently on the floor
A gift from Mother Nature’s store
Such beauty, such delicacy
Woven by the burly tree
Made me stop.
Made me ponder
Then take stock
To see such wonder
A perfect master of design
From base to apex, so divine
And yet this tiny, feathered blade
Has toiled through life
Its one-year age
To serve its host with basic needs
For mighty trees depend on leaves
And now its labour is all done
At the cooling of the sun
It’s discarded easily
Yet still yields its energy
The endless cycle spirals on
Because its work is not yet done
As worms begin their arduous toil
Turning leaves to rich, moist soil
The tree takes strength and so it weaves
Perfectly recycled leaves.
Copyright © Pamela Moorcroft | Year Posted 2024
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