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Retirement
One fresh fall dawn, a sleeping leaf awoke.
A portent in the wind proclaimed a change.
Its lot was always spent bound to its branch
exchanging sun and air, for sustenance
with trunk and root and soil — its universe.
And nodding in the fickle winds of life,
unconscious of the world beyond its bower,
it served its time with stolid tolerance
and staid devotion, never seeking more.
Now older, wrinkled, weathered, withered, worn
and weary of the daily drudgery
and endless numb photo-synthetic toil,
already loosely tethered — half-estranged —
it clothed itself in rainbow livery,
and gathering its courage, blindly leaped
and caught the autumn currents in its arms.
It swooped and sailed the whimsy of the wind.
It skirled and frisked in riotous release
with swarms of fellow rebel harlequins
that soared for far horizons only guessed.
Until, consumed, it pillowed gratefully
as all exhausted dying leaves must do,
upon the waiting fertile earth, below.
A Close View of...
George F. Mobley
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