The Crimson Leaf

My feet wander

through the woods.

The cool air kisses my cheeks.

My eyes see trees

with roots peeking

through the ground

and branches that stretch across the sky..

I catch a crimson leaf.

It has been blown

from its post.

And I think,

it was probably comfortable there;

In its original position;

High in the air;

Perhaps it was proud.

But then it took flight.

There wasn’t wasn’t anything it could,

to stop the wind.

I had to happen


The leaf is no long high,

no longer proud.

Its taken from home,

its taken from comfort.

The crimson leaf

is now on its own.


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