Fall Trees

Earth. With loam, sand, grit and clay.
Deep within, a heart of molten rock.
Mother earth, Gaia, says,

"Give me your seed,
And offspring you shall have. I love my trees.
The roots entwine and seize my breast and suckle life.
I mother all. From roots to trunk, and limb to branch,
and twig to bud and leaf, a rise to wind's domain.
Come back to me, my children!
They wave to me below and send down loving gifts of shade and sweets
to treat the worm beauticians who cultivate my face.
They dance in sun and rain and party with a careless air,
the bluster's toy."

Until they age.
Does the twig evict the leaf?
Or does the leaf abandon the twig?
Or do they both have cause for falling out?

"Goodbye, twig. I am old and the green is gone.
Gaia calls. I have on my roaming coat, but I leave you bare.
Will you freeze?"

Old twig lets go, regards such roving ways,
as seasoned leaf leaps to the wind one farewell time.

"I am aflame and falling free with wind's caprice.
Blow, wind! Carry me far from this native view!"

© 2000 John F. Deethardt II
(Thursday, January 20, 2000)