Leaves In Time
I saw them in spring, peeking out of their covers,
Cautiously testing the air, gingerly showing their colors.
The next time I looked, I had a definite change of view.
They had stretched and yawned, grown, well beyond tender and new.
Their soft swaying shadows gently enfold a wee fawn.
While unseen fiddling crickets play a sweet old cradle song.
Sheltering him intuitively, they spend their most sumptuous days,
Shielding their small spotted tenant from heat and winds and rains.
When summer and autumn were finished the baby was nearly half grown.
The last time I saw their splendor, they were fulfilled and freely blown.
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Comments about this poem (Leaves In Time by Connie Yost )
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