Dorothy J Carbone 09/29/1995


I watch the dying of the leaves, who would guess they are - with all those colors bright and bold.
I have been there at their birth, in late fall, as they push through the branch, clinging, staying small.
I have stayed and watched them, through the winter with its ice and snow, snuggled under covers, barely seen.
I have rejoiced as spring has come in waking buds, bees, and things that sing.
Opening up to anyone who will listen to their song
Blowing gently in new air like birds who fill up trees,
As the changing of the leaves.
All through summer I have enjoyed their shade as they feed the tree,
Always giving what it needs.
Running, crashing into fall, till we think we know it all.
Now maybe is my chance, only to be cut off from the tree at last,
I am she who has no love left for falling leaves.