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.