Leaves falling 

down the trees,

away from their homes 

for so many years.

Into the green ground 

they fall,

swept away by the wind 

they go.

Floating from 

places to places,

through the air 

finding that solace.

Rake gathering

the leaves,

piled together

in the cold breeze.

From the branches

to this pile.

It felt home

for awhile.

Until the fire 


And life


leaves turned 

to dust and ashes.

Branches grow

new leaves,

and the cycle