By will
Or by pull
A leaf is falling
Off an old sycamore tree
Heads sway
Soul pray
For favored landing
one to stay, another to be, ‘free’
Here a huff
There a buff
Paths to bend
To anoint a ‘chosen’?
Here a pill
There a spill
To what end?
To cure, or to poison?
But, I worry
I feel sorry
For the leaf
With so heavy a burden
So short a trip
Many poised to trip
Such a grief
Death indeed could be sudden!
Oh, please!
Do not tease
Leave it all
To gravity, to the whim of nature
In the stampede
To get ahead
Do not trample
Whom you suckled, and
by whose name you swear.

May 2005

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