Walking the path of rusty leaves
Lying strewn, retired from trees
Their Yellow seems so nostalgic
Something bizarre, quite atypic.
A crunchy sound under my boot
Echoes, when I put out my foot
The worldly things that lie above
Are crushed by the embers of love.
The framework of branches left
Bifurcated, its soul bereft
From deep within, it does profess
A yearning for the leaves’ caress.
It seems to be an endless wait....
Rays of sunlight, then, penetrate
To say, for every END in the making
There's always a NEW Beginning.