Sweeping the leaves out of the drain, I think of change,
Even beautiful things die, and decay,
My head, this past year has been clogged with many
Useless things,
Some leaves have started to slip away from me.
Their deep coloring, journeying to wherever
Water takes them,
I shovel muck and leaf into the bin
And, unclean water spills onto my shoes,
I am earth,
A cluster of many colors lie strewn across the lawn,
Death or change is wonderfully sad,
Ash, sycamore, deciduous arms shedding
Memories of past glory,
Must follow the course of nature toward change,
My soul must divest itself
Of the yesterdays, the failures, the victories,
I must hold up my arms and let the divine spirit
Strip me of all that is no longer needed,
No matter how beautiful, or how important,
Until I am naked before God.Â
