With the wind growing silent as the night moves in,
The fallen leaves shudder once, a temptation of a sin.
That time cannot be shorter once it’s already been too long,
Think leaves that lie on the buried earth wishing they were wrong.
To lure a cyclone back to dirt that lies still under grass,
Only to recall that leaves will never be given the chance to pass,
As low or green and if they were they’d dessicate and crack,
But to be tall and rise to skies–gravity abound and wind in lack,
Would be to watch–
To watch below where flowers grow and beauty is impure,
The bumble gives from rich to poor accepting sedentary as allure,
And not float on with the next slight wind to hills above the trees,
And rest atop a mountain ridge where cyclones always freeze,
But freshening winds dispose of old and bring about the new,
With every breeze float on the leaves while grass below stands still.
The carried leaves once struggling to keep high and still be low,
Atop the mountain now find gravity pulled itself close to below,
And dream across the mountaintop as peaks smile and call out,
A leaf among the highest mountains earns her desired clout,
And with ease does she float on top to never lie still again.