The leaves are limp and dry
no laughter in them anymore
watch them fall disappointed
to the woodland floor, brittle and torn
they take with them this year forlorn
crumpled beneath chestnut husks.
The year ahead, a vacant lot, awaits
veiled beneath the spider web earth,
coiled in promise and expectation
the softest hush the quietest sigh
new in wonder and in hope
new as the first look, new as a baby’s eye.