Ladytree’s Dress of Green Leaves

The falling leaves, detached from the crooked branch,

Twirl in synchronized dance,

Their blades swiveling in the wind, as a spinning gown,

The petiole partakes in this ball

And a ribbon gust would prance,

Twisting the air, at moments would slash,

Would trough and would seesaw back,

Missing the love of its homely branch,

This beautiful green it would sport until

Hovering in the air it could be no more,

It drew its last dance on the mounded green floor;

Toppled with the others, it spindles its last spin,

At the tip of the petiole is how it begins,

Presenting its bladed dress majestic and moral;

Then it’s spin died and it covered the others now

In tousled bush, from atop it looked a dress

All green and when the air brushed

The whole shook harmonious

This was a gown of green

Only fitted by the Ladytree,

Because it was weaved by her carefully,

All the leaves from her twigs of yarn

From her creation could not be spun from a dexterous arm

That she wilted off her stem

And then with another again, and again

Until all the leaves fell into place

For days, for weeks, for months

To have every leaf fall into place,

The light casting a softening sheen,

And the air swift, shuttering the tree,

And there she is, the lady doused from her stump to her heel,

With a dress made of green leaves,

Not even her mother could veneer,