The Red Leaf
There is one red leaf on the tree hanging like an open mouth
whilst a pea-green one is on the verge of growing up into yellow
Tinkling’s of rain shake the leaves; I see a ghostly face flittering
and at the base of the tree a white balloon lies all out of puff.
In the distance I can see close to the edge of the thick woods
your spot and even in its state of overgrowness it pulls me in,
towards the toy which has never played a tune, his gift to you.
And as I stand here wrestling with my everyday thoughts of
what the hell I am doing with my life it seems I was drawn
here quite by chance, to you, to this place, to your place
as you tell me the answer is always within and I am ready.
I smell sweet-peas’ and turn to see the red leaf is still eating
the green and the little ghostly leaf has changed into a wise owl.