Perfect Poem by April Swanson

I press a leaf against my cheek,
It crackles like a log smoldering in a fire.

The wind stirs, bringing a rhythm of dancing colors,
swirling with every blow of wind, and I try grasping the rainbow in my hands.

I toss fistfuls in the air, giggling as they float and whirl around me.
Capturing me in blanket of happiness, a carpet of security along the ground.

A red colored leaf brushes my shoulder and glides to the ground,
begging to be touched.
The color blazes an image in my mind, and I reach out to its temptations.
Scuffing my boots on the ground,
I bend down to marvel at its exquisiteness.

My hand reaches out, stroking its curled edges and delicate condition.
The stem has broken off, the leaf is damaged.

Coming across the imperfection,
The effect the leaf gives is hypnotizing.
Looking past its warped rim and fragile state it begs to be picked as special, distinctive.

Neither spring nor summers’ beauty compares to fall’s dazzling display.
Fall brings such magnificence that nothing measures up to a pleasant
autumn day.

A smile plays across my lips.
It’s perfect.
The fallen leaf is nothing more than a summer waving goodbye.