The Crepe Myrtle’s leaves
Turn golden
As they let go their branches
Fall to the ground
Lie close to each other
A carpet of gold
Then scatter in the night
When rains finally
Come
Sycamore begins dropping her
Leaves
Before Halloween
Such a large tree
Has more to drop
Then the Crepe Myrtle
And any of their neighbor’s
Sycamore leaves
Lie on the ground
Different shapes
Different sizes
I see them
As miniature sculptures
No two alike
I want to let go
Of bewilderment
Of despair I feel
From the chaos
Invading the life
Blood
In the government
Of my country
Stress I hear
In voices around me
Everywhere I go
I want to drop my worries
My heart’s concerns
Like leaves
Falling from the trees
To the welcoming
Ground
Not to resist
What is
And know with
Trust
This too must
Pass
This is absolutely beautiful