The last leaves linger on the boughs
And shiver in the cold
In silent vigil to the days
When they were strong and bold
They too will fall in coming days,
The winds will call their name,
And they will tumble to the earth;
Return from whence they came.
But with the spring, the newest leaves
Will burst forth from each limb
And proudly wave their colors high
In memory of them.
The generations come and go,
Yet in each fresh new leaf
Lives a reflection of the past;
The Master’s own motif.
No comments:
Post a Comment