A sultry noon in early Spring, the woods bereft of a living thing
I walked alone,sauntering at a leisurely pace,
crushing the remains of the Winter leaves
leaving behind an indescript trace.
Never did my feet, so easy, find, carrying me,
Never were my eyes, so curious, the trifle things, to see.
Never was my heart, in an abandon, so gay,
Never was a note of melancholy, so lifting, in its play.
For once I had nothing, unto me, to say.
No howling of the tempestuous thoughts haunted my way.
The thoughts though, lingered on, but weak in their faculty,
like the tired winter leaves hanging from the boughs of the spring tree.
Oh wild winds – stop on thy tracks !
Blow not so hard that you may snap the hapless yellow leaves – the remains of a harsh cold winter,
Leave them alone, that they may quietly move into an anonymity on their own,
in the darkness of the night or in the silence of a lonely noon.
Like a leper scurrying away from the glare of the prying eyes,
they will cascade their way onto the ground below.
And rest so quietly
as tho’ they never belonged to the bough.
That they were once a part of the Life,
as you and me are now,
and while life moved on, they stayed back,
as you and me someday will.
So let them linger on,
as long as their memories hold them in pride.
And then they shall meander away unasked,
Into oblivion, in a solitude dignified.