A Leaf in the Breeze

A Leaf in the Breeze,
Hears the silent Drum.
It feels not the change,
Thats inevitable to come.

From Green to Red,
The change starts to proceed.
The Trumpets are playing,
But there’s noone to lead.

From Red to Amber,
The age starts to show.
The Cymbols are crashing,
But not with the flow.

From Amber to Brown,
Still beautiful but aged.
The marching Bells are ringing,
And won’t be upstaged.

The Leaf meets the Breeze,
And falls to the floor.
And the Bells keep on Ringing,
As ever before.

 

By Kiera Devaney©