Leaves

“There are leaves across the skies, seemingly alive” Gun Roswell

Leaves

The leaves, which never fall, no matter spring, summer, winter or even fall

They keep on hanging there, being for ever green, the pretties anywhere seen

And then when the sun turns up to shine, against the coolest of blue skies

There are vibrations of various kind, the other colours, seen just again the dust

Even the very soft fluffiness of them reflected, against the blue up in the sky

And as the eyes do spy, all those sudden elements hidden there, on the inside 

What a surprise, for the weary observer of nature, never fully understanding the nature

Of those mundane leaves, which sometimes in the soft winds start to heave

But still are able, a most permanent mark on a person leave, just by seeing them be