The Swirling of The Leaves

The Swirling of The Leaves

The road is hard beneath my feet,
the cold wind has a bite,
the leaves attack without retreat;
swirling left and right.

They rustle as they kiss the ground,
brilliant colors on display,
then dance the dervish all around
on this windy autumn day.

A squirrel sits upon a limb,
his language is quite crass,
I doff my hat and wave at him,
then bow and quickly pass.

The air I breathe is crisp and clean
under skies of clearest blue;
there is no place that I have seen,
competing with this view.

The walk I take will serve my health,
in body and in mind
with riches counted beyond wealth,
that help me to unwind.

Now I have come to where I turn,
the journey's halfway through,
returning is of no concern
just a different point of view.

The swirling leaves are more than leaves,
squirrels do more than scold,
the journey is what man perceives
with riches to behold.

© Copyright 2007 T.L.Finch (UN: t.l.finch at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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