Sonnet CLXVI

The leaves are cut-outs in the wind today,
forgotten crafts of children far away.
And just as playful, dancing in the wind,
they cause a racket, loud and careless din.

And racing in the wind they gaily play,
so quickly chasing cars along the way.
And swirling in a gale with gleeful grins,
they fall and laugh and twirl about again.

And like the flowers in a blooming qualm
they grow in pillars of the rising breeze.
And falling on the ground when all is done,
I pick one up and hold it in my palm.
And just as so reckless, fallen from the trees,
it twirls within my fingers, still so young.