O leaves yellow!
I envy you so;
Pale, but alive.
You swing around with the wind that flows,
but leave not the wood you’re borne to.
Here, I sit and watch you fluttering with frustration
turning more yellow with every passing day,
You leave not, but, your bearer,
Across the spring and throughout the winter.
You dance, You sway, You freeze, You flutter!
You laugh and cry; You play on swings.
And, when the autumn strikes, you quit breathing;
I know not. You know; your bearer knows,.
Solemn and still, you detach from the wood,
and fall and wither to give yourself to the soil.
You live for good and you die for better;
For the wood is your bearer, but the soil – your creator.
Picture by Shalom Christopher