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The Mockery of Falling Leaves

Their rustling skirts 
Had quieted
Wherein before
They’d rioted
Across the 
Concrete drive

There I’d done it
Seized the chance
After the wind 
Had ceased its dance
Across the
Concrete drive

I’d applied some
Wind of my own
A regular
Hand held cyclone
Across the
Concrete drive

Now perfectly
Still and pristine
One might adjudge
“To the bone clean”
Across the
Concrete drive

But one need only
Turn his back
There’ll be swirling 
Leaves of no lack
Across the
Concrete drive

Drifting down with a
Clattering crackle
Triumphing o’er me
With a soft cackle
Filling the
Concrete drive.



About rwoz2

Poet, historian, writer for stage and screen. Responder to Jesus (Romans 5:8)

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