Simple Leaves

by SL Ruth

Simple leaves
in every form
hanging grainy down time roughtened limbs,
blowing stripes of green in a summer wind.
Lime green sprouts
tightly coiled,
ruffled edges spilling out
pleated like a child's paper fan
to unfold slowly,
under shade of mother's bower;
then, warmed by sunshine until they are browned,
blistered, toughened,
the simple leaves
spread wide, and breathe,
then curl on edge, again.
They filter light and water
through transparent spider veins.
shooting nourishment
up tiny tubular stems
to the heart of the tree
and beyond, to the roots
until autumns's chills
wring bright the chloroplast
and in a final blast
the leaf falls free
alone, it dies in glorius hue.

How like leaves we people are
when viewed as the whole
we live our lives hanging from
a rope, or tree,
and then, if we are lucky,
in a final shot of color
we shout out messages of who we are,
what we wanted, but
answers are merely whispers from the tree
as the wind blows through,
then we drop, if fully spread and veined
and painted, or not
and die in the cold, hard ground
like the simple leaves
go our simple lives.