Leaves tumble gently to the mossy floor,
Softening his footsteps,
Easing his breathless hurry to the sun.
Wind whispers crisply through the sparsely-clad branches,
Caressing his heart,
Cooling the sweat on his worried brow.
Light flickers down on to welcoming late flowers,
Opening their eyes,
Brightening the path to a land they'll not ever see.
Like a watery world of wonder
A tear drops,
Falling with a leaf, landing lost on the ground.
Then another tear falls from the silhouette sky,
Pitying his sorrow,
Crying out for Mother to comfort, to care.
Ferns softly stroke his little body,
Searching his mind,
Feeling for his hand to guide him home.
Tall trees slowly sway in their world above,
Beckoning him on,
Reaching up through the clouds for another hand.
As light fades the paths seem the same in the grey -
Turn back, turn around, turn again -
Now flowers close with his eyes,
Dew mingles with his tears,
Night falls with his hopes of home.
Perhaps come morning
The late sun will rise
And a dying world
Will make one last attempt
To take him through the forest of time -
And make good his escape
From the coming clutches of winter -
So that they may all
May finally sleep
16 November 1971