How did you
get there
so high
over my head?
Everything
starts here,
on Earth,
not with you
up there.
While up there
to you
it must seem
a different sphere.
While down here
to me
it seems
the same old whirl.
A leaf gives form
and function
to the tree
that lofts it in the air.
But a leaf
in late summer
has to decide,
up here or down there?
Then in autumn
in color brilliant
it chooses
its own course.
Leaving the tree
bereft of foliage
it changes
the scene
for my recourse.