by Ruby Archer
Artist Maggie Vandewalle
One by one the dead leaves fall,
Yielding gently to the call
Of the autumn wind.
Half reluctantly they go,
Falter, waver to and fro,
Glancing oft behind.
How the wind catches them,
Greedily snatches them,
Whirling and swirling them
Dizzily 'round
Coyly it plays with them,
Sportively sways with them
Down to the ground.
Were they longing to be blest
With a single moment's rest?
From the sward they're torn,—
Mad careering 'round and high,
'Till they mingle in the sky,
Breathlessly they're borne.
As they earthward return,
Their tired spirits yearn
For a bourne of repose.
They hesitate, waver,
Then by the wind's favor
Their pilgrimage close.
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