A leaf like a slowly closing hand
drops off
a great mother of a
tree - letting go
(irresistibly
it lets go)
in a shutterdown
of winter’s paler light.
How wonderful like a butterfly
to flutter, tumble, still;
only caught by wind - not knowing
that the lattice bark has started on a spree
with sun and rain and waving snow,
of soundness and repair.
Your poems are interesting and addictive; you remind me of Edward Carpenter - not his poetry but his worldview.
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