Myriad, myriad on the breeze
pirouetting round the trees,
gold and red, yellow and brown
tumbling over to the ground.
Autumn’s harvest every year
telling us the winter’s near.
Covering paths, clogging drains
turned to slush by all the rains.
Leaves remind me of this year
tumbled round by constant fear,
as born upon the fateful breeze
Covid brought us to our knees.
But for me they mean much more
carpeting our memory’s floor.
I see our children, full of fun
kicking leaves up as they run.
In woods, with voices echoing round
they jump in leaf-filled hollow ground.
Then making a lounge wall picture
of leaves laboriously stuck on paper.
Past and present now whirl together
blown like leaves in autumn weather.
Our joy and sorrow richly blended
just as nature’s alchemy intended.