Sunday, November 27, 2016

Does the leaf disrespect?
When it whines to the wind
of the places it's been
and the troubles it's seen.
When it sees the world whirling by
out of control,
in its dry crumbling roll
and its twisted air-lifted
expulsion from place.
When it loses its view
from the the top of the tree
down to low as can be,
and beginning to moulder.
Is it ruder and bolder
than nicety demands,
to look at the winds
that takes out of your hands
the precious, the needed,
and say wind I bleed?
Or is it an honesty
born of the knowing
that no one can talk of
their coming and going.

No comments:

Post a Comment