Years like leaves

Years, like leaves,

have fallen from this tree;

memories, in reds and yellows,

regal gold and shabby brown,

loiter and litter at its feet.

Years, like leaves,

at measured pace

nurture, or sully, reflection -

bringing their healings

and their bruisings

as they meld and mould.

Years, like leaves,

lash the trunk

in unwelcome Autumn winds

sharp and unyielding brittle leaves -

things unmeant, words spoken in haste;

or tickle gently in whirling breezes

soft with kind humour.

Years, like leaves,

do not remain

but change

feeding roots

with their recollection.