I heard the front door close
…opened it to look out
….and saw footprints in the sand
leaves surrounding there about.
This often happens
Soon after we disagree.
Now we can’t make up,
Or make a crying plea.
Like stones on the ground
That are not moved by wind or water
Remaining in their place
As each one oughta.
The door will open again
And someone will walk through
But there won’t be time for greetings
And words will be few.
As leaves fall from the tree
After it has borne all the fruit it could…
…it’s the way we leave each other
with circumstances misunderstood.
…..Leaves and comes back!
Leaves in a pile, in a stack………