In autumn, leaves fall down
to the gutters, rivers and pools.
Then, the naked tree sighs-
at the loss of his ornamental dress.
Some leaves fall on the terrace,
which are later removed by the broom,
along with twigs and bird droppings.
Some of them swirl into-
the public tanks, blocking-
the passage of water in the pipes.
Food for the microbes and earthworms
most leaves become; and there-
were some which made its way
into the naturalist’s potions.
A little girl picked one fallen leaf,
She pressed it inside her book,
and stacked weights on it until –
the leaf shrivelled and dried
to expose its veins and heart.
The leaf had started to give off
a little knowledge, when she-
showed it to me, pasted in her scrapbook.
When the doors of the rain open,
The scent of newly spaded soil erupts,
And none of the leaves are to be seen.
True, all leaves are buried, in the-
sands of time, except the one
owned by the little girl.