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.