Leaves tell me where,
You come from
And where you go.
You roll hither,
In the breeze,
On the trees,
Then on the ground,
Without a sound.
I think you have a mission,
I think you know from the start,
Your lives on the trees,
Look like pretty art.
But you seem to know,
When the winds blow,
That you are nature's,
You leaves are the forest's
You are nature's gift.
You are the most beautiful green.
The greenest green,
Of my dream.
Vera Sidhwa's Other Poems
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Comments about this poem (Leaves by Vera Sidhwa )
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
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(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
William Butler Yeats
(13 June 1865 – 28 January 1939)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(27 October 1914 – 9 November 1953)
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