Before me, I see leaves in the wind
brought low by growing ambitions.
Once they clung to extended branches
that drew my gaze towards heaven;
where days were long and bright
and nights were filled with endless stars.
But in their search for clarity that a
supporting trunk proclaimed existed
the leaves dared to race against time,
only to be scarred by the seasons.
Now rooted in dreams no more,
like tattered laurels, the leaves are cast
aside by wild and unkind winds.
Though fate did play a merry tune once
but untethered to supporting limbs
the passing wind did change their vantage.
Just as all must shrivel and die
so too must leaves when left un-nurtured.
J M Lysun 
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