January 15, 2014

 

Two leaves that touched

then fluttered by

fell to earth

from treetops high.

 

Both without identity

though with finger prints,

and changing colours

of matching tints.

 

Perhaps there was hope

they could re-unite

with the help of a breeze

at the dead of night.

 

Maybe once again

their paths could cross

so as to build a life

on settled moss.

 

Not too long left

each knew they had

before in frost

they would be clad.

 

If only they could

think the same,

and shelter from

the pending rain.

 

What would each do

the other thought,

recalling the lessons

they had been taught.

 

Then, as if by magic

instinct came,

to both, at once –

each thought, the same.

 

 They both had seen

a nettle bush,

under which to sit

to avoid a crush.

 

One instinctively knew,

by now, that the other,

would float straight to it

for protective cover.

 

And two seconds after

the first landed there,

the other arrived

and they became a pair.

 

written by Harriet Blackbury

 

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