If I were an oak leaf
which, once, sat atop a tower unbending
and I found myself resting
on a soft bed of moss
in a darkening forest...
I could live with that
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The Leaf is a Metaphor
The glorious bronze Sycamore leaf departed from her home in the trees in mid-November She was not the first leaf to leave* so to speak and s...
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A lonesome heron wading in a lake of gold a peaceful sunset He awoke in a wildern wood cool in the morning air and wan... -
The floating leaves strayed from the straight and wrote in cursive across the river's surface. What words were written, ... -
With winter winding away With the last of the beech leaves still clinging to their trees like hopeful ghosts With a few golde...
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