Leaves

Leaves

by Elsie Brady




How silently they tumble down


And come to rest upon the ground


To lay a carpet, rich and rare,


Beneath the trees without a care,


Content to sleep, their work well done,


Colors gleaming in the sun.

At other times, they wildly fly


Until they nearly reach the sky.


Twisting, turning through the air


Till all the trees stand stark and bare.


Exhausted, drop to earth below


To wait, like children, for the snow.