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Dead Leaf Story

A steamy saga of intrigue and espionage (with a little gardening thrown in for good measure.)

The compost was queried by the morrows tending:
Did fate mete trust to qualify this rending?
And in kind defy Falls’ passing dream
To quantify life’s smolder and steam?

Little of anything by compost was said,
As the torturous draught spread it with dread.
Cast off, away, for no home will return,

Reduced to a recipe as the gardener’s fork turns.
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Friday, April 25, 2014
Topic(s) of this poem: leaves
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7/24/2021 6:01:10 PM # 1.0.0.663