Silent Spectator

Ballerinas in the wind, sway and spin,
leaves of green, yellow, and red within.

With a slight flutter of life, they possess the key,

to the forest's secrets, the story of tree. 

Yet they stumble and fall, never to speak,

can’t interfere, their purpose is bleak. 

Do the leaves feel unseen, 

are they unhappy with their fate of in-between?

Do they long for more, a voice to share, 

or content to be, without care? 

For a descending leaf, there is no later, 

each is a

hopeless 

silent 

spectator.