That Leaf

[alatos]

That Leaf (v.2)

That leaf, which pops out of the burgundy stalk,
half in shade, beneath porch, beside gravel walk,
and gives rest to a bug (of an unknown sort, crawling slowly),
soaks in day: playing stoic receiver of the birds’ report.

Yes, this same leaf,
with its brushed yellowed edge,
needs no belief,
has no creed, takes no pledge,
of course has no learning
but the sun and the rain,
not trapped in discerning
pleasure from pain;
neither losing nor earning
can shake him, nor advance,
nor restrain.
His ways are higher:
part of nature’s romance.







That Leaf

That leaf, which pops out of the burgundy stalk,
half in shade, beneath my porch, beside gravel walk,
and gives rest to a bug (of an unknown sort, crawling slowly), soaks in day:
playing stoic receiver of the birds’ report.

Yes, this same leaf,
with its yellowed edge,
needs no belief,
has no creed, takes no pledge.
Of course has no learning
but the sun and the rain,
yet this leaf knows my yearning:
this leaf knows no pain.