Leaves on a Pillow

On silken strands, a whisper falls,

A crimson leaf, a memory calls.

From branches high, where autumn reigns,

It drifts and settles, tinged with stains.

A fleeting guest, upon my rest,

A tale of journeys, once possessed.

The sun it kissed, the wind it knew,

Now whispering secrets, soft and new.

Was it a witness, bold and bright,

To summer's laughter, warm and light?

Did lovers rest beneath its shade,

Promises whispered, never frayed?

Or did it tremble in the storm,

Bent low and battered, weathered, worn?

A silent echo of the fight,

The struggle for survival in the night.

Now on my pillow, gently laid,

A tapestry of stories, unplayed.

A fragile beauty, soon to fade,

A fleeting glimpse, a life displayed.

I hold it close, this crimson token,

A piece of nature, time has broken.

A reminder whispered, soft and low,

Life's changing seasons, ebb and flow.

So let me dream, with eyes alight,

Of crimson leaves and summer's light.

And hold this treasure, close and dear,

A fallen leaf, forever near.