Leaf

Call me the colour green, as I am leaf 

that leaps and trusts natures breath

We are all in a free fall, of sorts, rushing madly

to the ground

To be trod upon? 

To shiver on the surface of a puddle?

Go a ghostly white, decay, a skeleton?

It matters not when we are depart,

for it is the dance that is the fine art

You can spin, twist and tumble

to give them a damn good show 

Because when you hit the floor,

whether you're rich or poor

all that will of mattered 

is the splendour of your travels