A Child in Autumn
As a child I used to cry
For every leaf, russet red,
That fell to earth, cracked and dry.
I knew then that they were dead.
Mother tried to comfort me:
“These are only Nature’s tears.
Centuries have seen this tree
Mourn the passing of the years.
See, the tree is quite serene;
Past withered winter will he sleep.
Next spring his boughs will blossom green,
As through his veins the sap will creep.”
I knew better, being young,
And each leaf sought to save.
I had heard the tree’s sad song
Singing softly from its grave.
© 2016 Nemo
Nemo is a poet from Thanet who writes poetry to improve his mental health.