Memories slip like leaves
Still supple, bright,
with residue of life,
Or sometimes brown and dry,
Too many blowing now to number,
And some have gone for good.

One is caught
A brilliant,
a red.
Of passion and crimson love.
Another deeper hue,
A musing on togetherness,
through plights and fears
which we've come through.
A yellow one,
Of laughing, restful days.
An orange,
Of children born, and their play.

My bed of leaves is swirling in this busy wind.
And rising up my thoughts fly off.
Yet better winds will bring them here again,
That memory place where all the pleasant past of you,
Falls sweetly on my dreams.