A leaf that has turned
The deepest hue of red,
Falls lazily toward the ground.
Soon it becomes a treasured jewel,
Nestled amongst the mundane yellows and browns.
It stands out mightily,
In the stately picture of fall,
That was developed and enlarged,
Framed, and hung on the wall.
But the truth of it all,
Is that it is no better than these,
Who have lived and died,
And then fallen from the trees.
But gifts are sometimes given,
And rewards in the genes,
Do not survive indefinitely.
And the measure of a life,
Is often in what has been learned,
And not in transient beauty,
Or the heads that have been turned.
For all that we know,
We have learned on the road;
Our journey of life,
Where riches are bestowed.
And we know of our passage,
From the end unto the start,
That the greatest treasures we will find,
Are in a kindred heart.
So look upon this, the beautiful red leaf,
Who just as all of the others,
Is recently deceased.
Remember the beauty,
But neglect not the others,
For in the wonder of life,
They are our sisters and brothers.