Poem #40: The Leaves
#41 of Poetry
Sophmore year my English teacher took us outside, and told us to find two things and write a poem describing what we perceive about the things using the five senses. This is one of those two poems.
The Leaves
The leaves are damp, but not cold;
They feel as if they have been run
Under luke warm tap water.
The smell of dew upon grass
Is found, like upon the morn.
They curl as a paper in fire,
Only slower.
They are dirty and stained, like
A spot on a carpet, or the
Spots of the elderly.
Coarse, yet delicate; delicate
As brittle bone and smooth as
An old sidewalk.
Light as a feather; adding to
Its delicacy.
Its age causing it to fall
Apart and crackle, as a fire
Sounds and dried mud fails.
Ripping apart like the clothes
On a person's back.
~bhscorch
"The Leaves" by bhscorch is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License