By Rachel Yeomans
The leaves they fall as dreams and days do.
They always have; don’t wonder why.
The leaves they sift like my whole life through
As I stare into the Autumn sky
I think of things that have been past.
These leaves, their stories have been told.
Reminders, as they do their last,
Dying, the crimson and the gold.
The wind, as always, rushes by them.
They have to obey its command.
They leave the tree that has nurtured them.
They flutter down into my hand.
Although this season is so beautiful,
I know to not stay idle; let life waste.
I know to value things; be dutiful,
To learn what these few leaves have let me taste.
My Lord would have me to appreciate
His workmanship; how glorious it be!
I’ll spend my days by His plan, at His rate.
I’ll draw into my heart beauty I see.
And like the leaves stand until the last
And then when I let go of my life’s thread,
My God will gently into heaven vast,
Lead me to rest forever, as He said.
I wrote this poem two years ago when I was sixteen, as I was sitting in the dying garden at our house, the plants carpeted in leaves. I thought of the significance our lives have to simple things on earth we see, and thought I could relate to that here in this poem.
* * * * * * * * * *
"Napping with My Baby"
Anonymous
A stolen piece of ecstasy,
this time I nap with my baby.
Dishes wait, impatient for their time with hands,
I hear the laundry growing restless in their baskets.
Dust bunnies multiply beneath surfaces
like their living name-sakes.
But I sacrifice appearances as I hold
a piece of heaven in my arms.
We snuggle, cheek to cheek into the blissful abyss,
her breath swirls about my face,
her hair, sticky-warm with our closeness,
the magical, intoxicating, scent of baby,
of this new life I have created.
Eternity waits while I
savor this stolen moment.
I know times like these will be
gone all too soon, and I am content in our scared
embrace.
