There are wild grasses growing
A corn field fading
And all the while a still house stands
Still, lonely, fraying paint
On the edges
Shingles breezing away
And a porch
A plain porch
Faded from the dancing that happened upon it
Loved from the family it once lived with
And full of remnants of what it used to represent
A broken blue chair, peacock feather, and straw basket
Pictures from another time
This house
No longer has
Soft breeze echoes from a past long gone
One leaf catches the drift
The yellow spot rises and falls to the rhythm of autumn
Leaves its nest
And taking its time
While other leaves all seeming to catch on
Leave to follow the yellow shape
Away from home
Until one leaf is left
A rustic leaf
That continues to sway to its own beat
That gradually fades to silence