When leaves fall, do they cry
As they release their grasp
From Mother’s skirt?
Their lives, soaked in sun and fed by rain.
Their Mother, protective,
Her branches, their home.
How does she feel when her bounty loses grip?
Her children, the glory of her color burst,
Their song to us, their poetry.
Now they bed our paths
In crisp wind play and
Reveal sky, gray with snow.
Autumn is Mother’s heart opening,
Before resting and donning her spring garments
For Easter prayer.
Copyright© 2017/11/06 Barbara Harris Leonhard @extraordinarysunshineweaver.wordpress.com
Image: Original Digital Art “Fall Reflections” ©Martha Harris