I have seen tree leaves twist in the air, as they dance to meet the earth
Brown, some red, some still green; but all rushing to touch the ground
The floor is littered, a gathering of old and fresh tree leaves lay on the dirt
And why they fall, they won’t say, but when they do, they seem extremely glad
Apples and much citrus hang on branches, dangling in the soft air
The wind pushes fine dust up to meet the fruits, powdering their faces with it
When the apples hang on the branch they gossip about the tree leaves that sail,
They are happy with the Wind and her queer entourage of fine dust
Morning sun, the herald of a new day, of a new beginning and new tidings,
Rise from the hills behind, throwing her colourful hues upon the sleepy town
In her might, she draws, casts and paints the people, flora, and fauna: everything,
Enjoying moments she passed falling tree leaves, ones that sailed through the cloud
Oke Iroegbu's Blog 