Autumn leaves profess their love
As they cascade to the ground

Redwood stands in silent attention
To feel your breeze caress it's bark

tiny dancers
came swirling by
in the form of leaves
falling from the sky
and as I watched them
twist and turn
falling down
so light and free
I couldn't help but feel
they were performing
just for me.

tiny dancers
garbed in autumn's array
of gold and oranges and reds
on this windy day--
and all I could think
as they kept coming down
was that I wanted to join in
to dance around
and feel as beautiful,
light and free
as all these tiny dancers
surrounding me...

the wind picks up the
leaves and they dance in little
spirals and when it slows they
fall like the end of a
puppet show

Autumn leaves
Are a trick of the mind.
An illusion of beauty,
That mask the harsh reality
Of what they represent.

Mesmerized by their colors
People mistake them for beauty.

But what are autumn leaves really?

They are leaves
Changing
Inevitably changing
With no control over the matter
Loosing what they once were altogether

And then
When the cold fully encompasses them
And it becomes too much to bare any longer,
The simply fall away,
Completely forgotten by the people who were once
Infatuated with their beauty
But have lost interest now
Because they are no longer
appealing to the eye.

Runs through the forest with the wind in her hair.
Tripping over the briars, as they strangle the ground.
Gazing at starlight, it's blessing the copse.
The fear in those dark moments, when she's realising that she's totally lost.

In a hole at the base of a gigantic tree she curls up to sleep.
Deep in the forest, none hear her weep.
The owl in the tree, he keeps his own counsel.
He's so very quiet, she knows he's up there.
The guardian of her silence.
A voice in the darkness cries, "Sweet Ann-Marie, where are thee?"
The squeak in the dark.
The voice of the child, an echo's resounding.
Those lanterns they're calling for the little girl lost.
Into the clearing, more echoes are heard.
Alarming the owl, the wise old bird.
The flapping of wings, flying out of the clearing.
The seekers are finders, as now they are nearing.
Finding the frightened child, in the sweet summer dress.
At the base of the tree.
They hold her so tight as now she is free.
Tears of relief grace her delicate face.
Safe and sound, off home to bed.
Relieved as now, she's resting her ever grateful head.
(C) Livvi

Of all the roads I have taken, this one was by far the most special, as it led me straight to you.