They catch the wind.
Some wander like lost children,
Unable to reach the Earth.
Others touch the ground, landing softly.
They are all multicolored.
I am unique.
I am still green.
I, as the last one, wait.
Attached to the tree, I watch the others dance in the breeze.
A small gust of wind blows me off of the tree.
I join the rest, my shade of green standing out.
On top of the pile of turning-brown-leaves, I turn kaleidoscopic,
And appreciate who I am.
Share This Poem