Letting Go
Children shuffle
through leaves:
Oak, poplar, maple.
Are the leaves happy
to bring joy,
Or do they feel
disrespected;
Consigned to the
rope-swing landing pile,
At the end of its
short shady path;
Do they feel shame
at being brought so low,
Or gratitude when it
gets cold,
And kids are playing
in snow,
Outside the wood,
where it lies thick.
Mulch around other
plants,
They flutter weakly
in the north wind,
Hoping to fly back
to their twigs.
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