We are the leaves of a solitary tree by the river
Turning from green to yellow with the passage of time
With a sudden gust of the autumn wind
We detach from the branch
And fall gently into the stream
We are swept into its meandering adventures
Choice-less as we may be, we are pummelled
By the swirling eddies, and potential undercurrents.
And as the tributary reaches the flood plain and slows
We could be cast onto the spur, of a moment
And then, be carried again, with the rising sea tide
Into the arms of sea, and then,
We are no more.
Aidan here