The life span of a leaf is
brief.
From springs gold birth
to summers green,
to Autumns red
and then she’s dead.
But in her time,
she’s worn the robes
God weaves so fine.
She’s fluttered in breeze,
kited on winds,
showered in crystal rains.
The sun has come to warm her.
She’s breathed the clear, crisp air,
So when I pray to the God I know
to help me through another snow,
my prayer’s a metaphor for my belief:
“…and make my life, a leaf.”
Poems by Ken 