The Golden Leaves

The golden leaves have fallen now—
cracked and brown and dying,
swirling in the autumn air
that slips around me, sighing.

All that’s left of a youthful dream,
conceived in winter’s wait
and born beneath the sun’s warm gaze
when all the trees create.

So soft—the pink and white unfolding—
blossoms on the trees
that hope and smile and laugh and dance
into the coming breeze.

And then the baby softness stretching
further in the wind—
the green that deepens as they grow
mature and strong like men.

How swiftly, though, the summers fade
and Autumn wilts away
the leaves of gold that newly budded
only yesterday.

I feel the joys of each new year
as spring time comes around,
yet through the laughter I still hear
the ever-haunting sound:

The rustling of the golden leaves—
the cracked, the brown, the dying,
swirling in the autumn air
that slips around me, sighing.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s