Ripped from its home,
Tumbling down the road,
Surrounded by trees,
Seeing its fellows clinging,
Brown, yellow, all decaying,
All rolling along with no control,
Soon the rakes will come,
And then the snow,
Sending us this way then that,
Our destination always chosen,
But never by us,
Put into a heap with our fellows,
After the fall of the rake,
Metal teeth ripping through us,
Squashed into a bag,
Into the dark release of black,
Poured out after an eternity,
Left to rot,
Left to die,
Then comes the rain,
Soaking us,
Some of us are lucky,
Sheltered beneath our fellows,
Soon the sleet falls,
Little worse than rain,
Causes no damage,
Then comes the hale,
Smashing through us,
Cutting us to pieces,
Finally comes the snow,
Beneath it we rot,
Spring comes,
The snow melts off,
On the ground one alone,
A single Maple leaf,
Almost gone,
Almost decayed,
Almost dead.
Copyright ©
MysticFireFairy
... [
2006-02-24 13:09:25]
(Date/Time posted on
site)
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