Separated from the joyous tree that held me
Wandering from place to new place, aimlessly,
In unwanted swirling winds I get caught
Landing at doorsteps of strangers not sought,
I am not alone, there are others in this place
Yellow, red, auburn; they drift in natural grace,
In windy heights, I see colors of dusk and dawn
Damp and forlorn I feel, when the wind is gone,
Losing my sheen and green every passing day
I harden up, turning brown, like potter's clay,
And end up among others piled up in grief,
To meet my fate; I am just another autumn leaf.
-Gowrish
