Now crackled brown and always drifting
With the breeze they tumble, sifting.
I love the leaves, that sing their story
Of summer days and all their glory,
When dark brown limbs gave birth to green
That fluttered gently in the breeze,
Then pass their time, so it is with us
Our sap now dried and turned to crust.
The leaves of time blow in the wind
Reminding us of now and then,
Of our summers, blessed with sun
Our limbs so strong and primed to run.
Seems long ago, the days so bright
Our once strong limbs withered in the night
Growing soft, and growing old
No longer thoughts of strong and bold.
And now we’re drifting with the wind
The leaves of life, the weathered limbs.
William Stroud
