What The Leaves Are Doing
The leaves are drinking coffee in the rain,
One of those cloudy, misty rains
That doesn't fall as much as settle in.
The leaves are sitting quietly, meditating.
Perhaps they will fall asleep
Lulled by the sound of their own breathing.
The leaves are walking down the bike path
On a chilly Saturday midmorning
And looking wide-eyed at the colours of themselves.
The leaves are reading Shelley
In the fourteen-story library.
They are writing tenth-rate imitations of John Ashbery
In an Amherst student lounge.
The leaves are leaving, as it is November, December.
The trees are loving and losing their leaves
Which go from green to mortal red,
From a crimped brown to the black earth.
The leaves are evangelising
For some peaceful gospel
That preaches without using words.
The leaves are celebrating this bright day
Of thirty degrees and a stiff wind.
The leaves are reciting, always, a silent mantra:
Remember now that thou art dust.
Poetry by Thomas D
Read 343 times
Written on 2019-12-02 at 09:05
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