Autumn in our Orchard

Indifferent even to the Maple that bore us,
Unaware of its countless branches,
We were two leaves
that had never known the wrath of the seasons.
Tiny sprouts, of vibrant crimsons,
the fiery shades of the sun,
callow, but unperturbed.


We'd sway in the breeze that'd call on our orchard;
Overjoyed and restless,
as we witnessed each other grow.
The lofty cypress would gape in scorn
while, the brambles would chuckle amongst;
The little daffodils that grew beside our feet
would glance up and dance at us
whilst the bare oak turned away in envy.


It was an uncanny summer, ours, that year
odder than in the stories of the old chestnut.
I saw you drying, as your shades grew pale
I grew paler, as I gave my own life to you.
Silently we gazed afar
as the rain washed us over.


Our crimson faded, as we bled profusely,
But breathing, in solace of our togetherness;
and oblivious, of the iniquity
of the stranger times that awaited us.


Recalls of the whirling sounds of our laughter
as we'd sway in pleasant harmony;
Songs of our chortle, our muse be the breeze,
Psychedelic sounds, inducing synesthesia
of before when autumn dried our veins.
Then,
pale and gloomy, we fell from our shoot
on the insolent ground
whilst our colossal maple took no heed...

Now the only sound we make
is when someone walks over our parched, lifeless carrion.