Once when the Autumn  leaves were falling ,
upon a crisp dry land ,
my Gran and I came across an Avenue of trees ,
which I for one thought it grand .
A tree to hind under ,
so I won’t be seen ,
a tree to hide us from the rains and  pelting stones ,
the shades of reds and oranges hiding in the firn groves ,
and evergreens .





But most of all a leaf my gran picked from where we both had  trod ,
it was a leaf gran placed in a book ,
but now sadly is  has  gone .

Woven into my memories a single leaf that never grew old ,
or crinkle or faded like the book of all its pages now curdled ,
yellow and old .


And one day I will find them both ,
In the Attic,
Or Underneath the stairs ,
to remind me of my dear gran and all the things we shared .