LIFE'S LEAVES

Mould long beneath winter's cold white cloak
stirs in the breezes of spring, its thaw,
bugs develop in the sudden warmth, 
leaves heave in relief, some made into a pictures
collaged to a stone or gathered tight together
making strange new sculptures of random shape, 
as the march winds tear them from their resting place
they take to flight, as if to live a second life.
 
Now faded, dressed in browns and murky greens,
caught up, they cartwheel down the paths we tread,
beside us as if to compete, spinning like wheels
rolling to nowhere particular, always on the move
joining dust devils in corners or creating vortices
resembling hurricanes, travelling in spirals across
grassy parks, ever increasing in number as they
snatch up new members of their mysterious clan
faster than a witches spell, making such
beautiful shapes like urns.

The remains of autumn's dreams, dashed,
yet dancing to their final doom, as youth dances
its latest jive, thinking life goes on forever, forever
being a split second in the history of the universe;
human beings created and recreated in never ending
cycles of development, while thinking time stands
still for them, in the now of excitement, gaily
abandoned to their dark destiny beneath the flying leaves, 
where they join their forgotten books of history
in the pages of their autobiography, completed.