Unlike flowers that have a name
Why, do leaves not have the same,
Why, must they be linked to colour
Why, do we play this, unwanted, game.

Youthful leaves and wrinkled ones
Some partly green and partly brown
Some, still in one piece, some aged a bit
A bit broken, ready to come down.

Green leaves, Brown leaves, Yellow, too, found
Withering and withered, flying around,
Some waiting to grow up and then, slowly, fall
The breeze aiding the journey to the ground.

Beautiful, but some, prickly, crinkly too
Some, unattainable, like the Roses Blue,
Some smooth as silk, some thorny ones
Those, close to Roses Red and, always,True.

Then,  Autumn leaves of Red and Gold
King Cole’s song that never grows old,
Wrinkled, perhaps, like Leaves on Trees
Imperishable we know, and are often told.

Leaves, without  breezes,  would lonely be
Close friends, and, that is no mystery,
Someone always needed to carry another
Like all of us, borne by Destiny.

(The author is a prolific poet who has over 30 poetry books to his credit. He can be reached at ashoksawhny06@gmail.com/ www.ashoksawhny.com)