I write poems every so often. In 2000, I was waiting for my son to come out from school and a puff of wind blew thousands of leaves down the street. That night I wrote what I saw.

Fall's Dance

Twisting, twirling as they dance.
Changing partners at each chance.
Standing tall, then laying low;
Resting till the wind would blow.
Music, there really was not need;
Each one played a symphony.
Back and forth they crossed the street,
Creating sounds that were so neat.
Their brilliant colours changed in flight;
Leaving such an awesome sight.
The orange, the yellow, the red, the scarlett;
Blanketing the street like a carpet.
When cars would separate the pack,
One puff of wind would blow them back.
On and on their dance would go,
Until the winter brought its snow.
Now they lay beneath the ice,
Until another takes their place.
In the dance of fallen leaves;
A beautiful ball that no one leads, except the
Master.   Submitted By: NULL