Absorbing scattered light, like always reaching for a dream,
never being more than a pebble to the stream,
never being more than a tapestry's frayed seam.
Twirling through the air as if a jugglers knife,
of their never-ending job, exhausted from the strife.
I see the leaves dance as they seek to grace the earth with their last vestiges of life
Their hope is simple, their cause is great
That in new life they may elate,
That their cause, like a syncopated heart may beat: forward
And new growth may burst skyward.