leaves

The leaves are dancing in the wind

Rustling, skittering, tangled in each other 

Skipping across the ground to a destination unknown

Speaking a language all their own 

A gust blows them my way

They speak to me yet I know not what they say

I wish the breeze to continue to make them move

So I can listen to their song

But as the wind dies, so do their voices

The silence deafens me, without the leaves noises

© Chelsie Cummings 2017

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