The Fallen Leaves Poem by Nudershada Cabanes

The day moves slowly in a languid pace,
serene in the still afternoon air
Even the trees are not moving
The wind did not come to blow
The old leaves that are still hanging into falling
Fallen leaves from last night
Still lay crumpled on the ground unswept
Some are yellowed by the sun and others burnt to gold
Soon they will go back to earth from whence they come
As they turn to ashes on a pyre set for them
For now they lay on the ground on a still afternoon
Their bright colors paling in the warmth of the sun