A rush
A hum
A Phantom in our midst
And in the midst of it
Dance the Leaves of Autumn.
The sun squints through the branches
As the wind brushes them aside.
Barren from the fall of their kin,
The Leaves on the ground reside.
It rushes
It hums
The Phantom approaches
And the Leaves do tremble
For when the Phantom comes.
The Leaves that lie dead below
Long for life from the Phantom
Upward they fly through the wind
Yearning for branch and home.
Jason Behnke
2004
The Phantom and The Leaves
