Leaves Poem by Nero CaroZiv

A cold whirling blast from behind the house and hill
As it rushed over the gloom of lush wood with startling sound;
Then all at once, an ominous silence, and the air was still,
And showers of frigid hailstones start falling in pattern round.


Where leafless fig trees with cold wires boughs bare
I walked with my book back within a barren cold dry grove ever been
Of tallest naked trees, at the peak of autumn; spring seemed so far
yet I miss the fairer bower of past days that is never to be seen.


From year to year the spacious grove floor
With withered crimson leaves was covered over
And all during winter the bower was green covered with wild clover.
And at early spring the bloom comes and the world opens its door


The sighing hiss in the wind of withered leaves all skip, jump and hop;
Yet there's not a faint breeze; no breath of air,
And here, and there, and everywhere
Along the wide floor, beneath the shade beneath high trees top


By those embowering hollies made, the birds pert and nimble in sing
The leaves as a background choir in myriads jump and spring,
As if with pipes and music rare
Some Robin made their strong presence there,


And all those precious happy bunch of leaves, in festive glee,
Are still dancing every day in my eyes without my conjecture or plea


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