Tuesday, March 6, 2018

A Song 216



Leaves drop
screen printing the air.
A leaf dawdles mid way.
Another doodles the air.
A third rises, falls, pauses
before the final rest.
An earthy crowd,
below trees,
brushed off streets
by sweepers
in mornings of candour;
a laying the table
for fresh drops.
Leafmarks of a living.

No comments:

Post a Comment