A little poem about leaves
The wind loves each leaf.
After they burn up their colors
It gently stacks in corners
The delicate remains
Until they are thousands.
Not a single one bent.
-
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Fresh Hell 
Adaptability and acceptance, nice.
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Oh! That interpretation works too, doesn’t it?
Oh hey look, I’m adapting and accepting 😛
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Ha
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What’s the context if I may ask?
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Mostly it’s just kind of a nature poem. I guess it’s also about… gentleness. Being kind to those who are fragile. Respect for those who have passed, or for the aged. And there is a meditative element to it too, the delicate stacking of each thing. Er, maybe I didn’t have a clear thought in mind. haha
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That’s the beauty of writing from my aspect. It’s not so much what I am trying to express, but what the reader takes away. There is always projection and interpretation based on what’s happening in the reader’s life or what they have experienced before.
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I am alarmed by the clear implication of your poem that you might soon fancy stacking me in some corner somewhere as among the “aged”.
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LOL! You’re right Paul, we shouldn’t delicately stack the aged in corners. But I will make an exception for you!
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Beautiful autumnal poetry!
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Thank you!!! ❤
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I love the order out of chaos theme here. Life is messy and chaotic. It would be good to know that order finally reigns.
Mona
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I’ll bet the wind thinks itself very organized. Like when Don tries to clean up after me and I’m like, “No! I left that candy wrapper on the floor for the cat to play with!” Order is in the eye of the beholder, I guess 😉
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❤
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