Wind, blowing dead leaves,
Rustling along the lane like dead souls,
Their moisture and shining suppleness gone,
Leaving only a desiccated, darkening husk.
Wind blowing dead leaves, as I pass by,
Reminding me of people I knew,
Whose laughter and knowledge
And, like a leaf,
I will be blown, dry and lifeless,
And kicked unthinkingly by children
Excited by the wind and shouting loudly,
As they, also, pass into anonymity.