(for Adrian Mitchell)
As I was leaving Tesco’s
A man handed me a leaf
I held it gently by its stem
Turned it over
Inspected it
It seemed like an ordinary leaf
No blemishes, tears
Or distinguishing marks
The leaf was brown. No – orange.
With touches of red.
Many shades of colour in fact
I noticed the intricate network of veins
The leaf’s lightness
Its delicacy
Its perfect shape
I looked up at the trees
And thought of the billions of leaves
Clinging on, soon to fall
And thought of the billions of new leaves
That would come after winter
More than my brain could imagine
I let the leaf fall to the earth
Watched its curved flight
I thanked the man, picked up my bag of shopping
And walked home
(After Leaflets, by Adrian Mitchell. )
5 comments:
Once, instead of a regular demo handing out the usual leaflets, Adrian stood outside a supermarket handing out real leaves. He writes about it in a poem. This poem imagines I was one of those people.
Acorns or leaves, that is the question. For sure we are but a very small item in the scheme of things. whatever random force created the leaf also created me but I, unlike the tree the leaf came from, will not be around for hunderds of years.
Amazing the sort of thoughts a poem and a leaf can inspire.
Very nice. Very leafy.
One of those poems you can't leaf alone.
If I'd only known I've got a whole tree full at home. Lovely Roger a very nice tribute I couldn't think of anything that was good enough in the end...Although word verfication says mufflude
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