Fallen Leaves.

 

Have you noticed how on some trees

all that has fallen are leaves?

Yet on others very few threads are bare!

the distance between their position is short;

Growth appears to have no sense , no purpose!

Is it the sweet or bitter-sweet sap that nurtures,

to set the structure of a life span...

growth that is the Tree of Man?

 

There is alarm in the rustling leaves!

It matters not where you walk:

They have exploded in the wind, in all directions.

I hear you upon the barren boulevard alone.
You are dumped in the corner of the garden,

in the forest you are simply blown.

There is time to be oneself, to grow,

to reach upward and outward only when you have grown.

 

Time provides opportunity to spring forth;

Branches thicken and blossom

becoming dressed for a short moment

sharing a gown of the most attractive design.

Leaves are the canopy that shelter the seed;

the bud that soon becomes the flower:

With maturity each fills out and are defined

and finally they will fall upon the ground.

 

Spring leaves are the infants that gain by daily experience.

Small shoots evolve influenced by shade and light.

The days nurture the adolescent development

to bring to fruition individual strength and talent:

The beauty of sunlit heavens encourage the reaching out.

Texture and colour are the resulting foliation;

the shades of crimsons, oranges and golds turn to rust.

They are the expected crown that falls into the dust!

 

1996 © Will George


Will George Poet


will-george-poet.co.uk