poem

Where the Leafs Go

I am so grateful for the way that the leafs go,
blowing through the atmosphere, conscious,
wherever the wind goes.
The wind leads them and reels them
through windmills and prairie fields,
over magic spells with potions,
exactly where where our hearts are heading.
The leafs flow and say, “Do you know?”
on their way to the harvest,
the years was fine
they were fruit on the vine,
and made it home to the harvest.

by Ben Bussewitz