I am a leaf on an oak tree:
Tiny and transient.
I feel and flutter in the slightest breeze;
Have a shiny surface
With a tender underside;
My colours change
In seasons all too fast.
Perhaps just once in a lifetime
A pair of lips descend
To kiss me as I now
Kiss this leaf,
And I will understand
That life is love.
Someday I will fade and wither,
My dry bones will be crushed underfoot.
Perhaps I will inspire
Peace or a poem
In some other delicate soul.
Perhaps not.
But the I that was me,
That was a leaf on a tree,
Will have ceased to mind.
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