Friday Poetry: Leaves by Elise Brady
I love this poem, though I know nothing about the poet.
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.
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.
~ Elise Brady
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:: this post is part of the Friday Poetry roundup hosted by Literary Safari.