Farewell Lovely People
We are the leaves, adornments, slipping from the arms of Elder Brothers,
released to Father Wind, we have become fluttering shadows of ourselves.
Withering silently, we render scintillating coloured feasts as we deliver our final surrender into the wind.
Lying still, pêle-mêle, trampled on, burned or waxed our fate had been destined.
Farewell lovely people.
We will send forth our next generation.
When the time has come they will appear to you as tender sprouted buds.
Hélène Vaillant ©Short Stories