There is an old woman collecting leaves on the sidewalk
No one notices what happens to all the leaves
They are like days we sometimes save
and they can be beautiful,
and look like all the rest

The days are no different than the leaves
How they come to form a backdrop,
a million endless days you would never notice,
never think to count

When we look back, and find one crinkled in a book
we wonder why we tried to save them,
they don’t look the same.

Categories: poetry

Tags: Autumn, fall, leaves, nature, poem, poetry, sentiment, time