The Swirling of The Leaves
The road is hard beneath my feet,
the cold wind has a bite,
the leaves attack without retreat;
swirling left and right.
They rustle as they kiss the ground,
brilliant colors on display,
then dance the dervish all around
on this windy autumn day.
A squirrel sits upon a limb,
his language is quite crass,
I doff my hat and wave at him,
then bow and quickly pass.
The air I breathe is crisp and clean
under skies of clearest blue;
there is no place that I have seen,
competing with this view.
The walk I take will serve my health,
in body and in mind
with riches counted beyond wealth,
that help me to unwind.
Now I have come to where I turn,
the journey's halfway through,
returning is of no concern
just a different point of view.
The swirling leaves are more than leaves,
squirrels do more than scold,
the journey is what man perceives
with riches to behold.