On a bright autumn morning, two maple leaves bask in the sun. So transparent are they it is almost as though we can see through their souls. Gentle greens and peachy reds, perfect in their appearance, they spread their wings to catch the sunbeams
Inspirational Poems
Maple Leaf
by DonJaime
I did not see the maple leaf
Beneath my hand, I felt the heat
The tree had risen to its feet
And then I touched the maple leaf
The tree grew tall below my hand
The dewdrops fell at your command
It could not drink the rain's relief
But was not dry, the maple leaf
I dreamed of leaves on fingertips
A bud that grew between my lips
My eyes were opened in my sleep
I saw unfold the maple leaf
Beneath the tree, no shadows deep
Dawn will come to kiss its feet
As I rise up from my sleep
May I kiss the maple leaf?
And would the tree be made a thief
If it should touch the maple leaf?
Maple Leaf Clusters
By E.G. Wiens
Snapping on at dusk under the burnt horizon
The street lamps unveil
Maple leaf clusters
Redeemed from the night frost
Huddling near the warmth of their glow.
My pale shadow passes me up Dunbar hill
The stripped naked boughs
Distort Yule lights
Early in November butts December
Curtains drawn on parlour lamps gleaming.
Autumn Leaf
Sharon P. Pinnick
If I were a leaf on a majestic tall tree,
And I had the choice, of which I could be,
I’d be a maple to turn orange yellow gold
When the cool autumn winds turned warm nights cold.
I’d want to be high as high could be,
So all of the world would be open to me.
I’d sway with the wind, spring, summer and fall
Up in the maple so big and so tall.
Then one moonlit night in October’s cold air,
A beautiful frost would come paint me with care.
All leaves would turn color, as God would have done
To give the world beauty for short days to come.
Then if I could choose on which day I would fall
I pick late October when winds came to call.
I’d choose Sunday morning so bright and sunny,
As sun through the leaves flowed golden as honey.
I’d pick the sweet moment, when the wind was just right
To let go of my limb and float nice and light
Drifting ever so calmly from the place of my birth,
Then gently lie down to my rest here on earth.
A Vagabond Song
Bliss Carman. 1861–
THERE is something in the autumn that is native to my blood—
Touch of manner, hint of mood;
And my heart is like a rhyme,
With the yellow and the purple and the crimson keeping time.
The scarlet of the maples can shake me like a cry
Of bugles going by.
And my lonely spirit thrills
To see the frosty asters like a smoke upon the hills.
There is something in October sets the gypsy blood astir;
We must rise and follow her,
When from every hill of flame
She calls and calls each vagabond by name