Falling,
gently,
Caressing the
air
as it descends
Sometimes spiraling, sometimes
turning, Coming closer
to the ground
Softly

Soft curves and docile points,
Green like sunny glades, forest tops,
wooden depths,
The leaf, the hand of
selfless trees
Selfless themselves

Giving always, hardly wanted
Never needing more than
one summer, accepting
death, shriveled and cruel,
when it comes

Like soft lips of lovers kept
apart
They caress my cheek, my
arms, if I stand
in the path of their earthward way

I marvel at thee,
celestial sprite, so
willing and full of giving
life
so perfect
in form
and function and more
Not resenting the abuse of
fiendish hands searching
Just waiting for life,
for rain, for sun,
as though in control of the
greater scheme

Red and orange,
brown and mixed,
yellow, soft, or crunchy,
They spiral down like a storm of fire
Like a rain of molten tongues
Hailing the Earth like
one hundred burning spirits