La Feuille

A light urgent push, the long awaited time,
Her brother's orange and red, dance and wave.
They watch as their yellow sibling goes,
A girl's freedom and departure, an unsatisfied crave.

Floating through the soft, cool air,
Her mother's long grip has been undone.
Fluttering softly like a newborn's eyes,
She graciously accepts that death has begun.

She twirls, slow whirls, with each soft gust,
The slow decent a whimsical beauty.
Breezing near the strangers, in fear she goes,
Alas not long, she has but one place to go.

She softly sings her departure tune,
As she momentarily floats above the cool ground.
She lays and stares deeply into the fiery sun,
Till, by chance, by a child she's found.

Her grateful new owner of nature's gift,
A careless and free heart it holds.
The child is enticed by his simple find,
Within the child's hand, she is no longer cold.

Placed between white sheets and ink,
She feels that she is safe and sound.
Between the pages of a child's first book,
She patiently waits, to again be found.