Photo borrowed from Flickr
Imagine all the leaves on trees
Are persons waving in the breeze
Of Spring and Summer--soon to Fall;
They live in harmony with all.
Through sun and rain they float on air,
Extend to others, kindness--care,
Opening themselves, to shelter wings
Without complaint or any strings.
Come Autumn and our dear ones drop;
The wild-eyed winds each stripling, strop;
Then we step up to rake them in--
Souls of the Dead, removed from sin,
And toss them on their funeral pyre,
To watch their flames dance ever higher;
Float up to Heaven's Gate, unbarred,
And rightly claim their just reward.
Kathleen Mortensen © 2008