Vera Sidhwa


Leaves


Leaves tell me where,
You come from
And where you go.

You roll hither,
And thither,
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,
Personality.

You leaves are the forest's
Afterglow.
You are nature's gift.
You are the most beautiful green.

The greenest green,
Of my dream.

Submitted: Wednesday, May 08, 2013
Edited: Tuesday, September 17, 2013

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  • Thomas A Robinson (5/9/2013 4:14:00 AM)

    A nostalgic poem about the transitory existance of leaves to metaphorically describe someone
    close to you. Evokes a warm longing to be next to this person. (Report) Reply

Read all 2 comments »

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