Matthew 10:29

Modern poetry modern verse contemporary poetry contemporary verse modern poem contemporary poem

A breeze that comes from somewhere, nowhere

Or from everywhere lifts wide the leaves and tears

Them from their limb.  The breeze, though gem-bright air,

Is one of many thousand storm-set airs

Surged far away from realms the lost leaves have not

Imagined, yet they die, perhaps in blots

Fall down on mud where, helpless, they are caught,

Perhaps fall down together forming clots.

Perhaps a leaf falls down to find a pond,

But does leaf sink or float?  The fall responds

To nothing.  There is nothing in the great beyond

For dying leaves except more deathly ponds.

  Not even Christ in heaven cares about

    Such leaves and lakes.  There comes no angel shout.