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On Winds Of Time
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By Louis Gander
Other Poems by Louis Gander

On Winds Of Time

The beauty of that place was such

that I just hadn't mattered much.

Except for me, the trees were bright

with vibrant leaves.  Oh, what a sight!

The crowds would mingle and would rest

among the brightest and the best

where thoughts and dreams together meld

in beauty so unparalleled.


Those autumn trees would grin and shout,

"Hey, look at us.  Come check us out.

We've colored leaves for you to see."

And so it was for ev'ry tree -

except for me with branches bare.

I didn't brag.  I didn't dare -

for people laughed - and newlyweds

just rolled their eyes and shook their heads.


A boy yanked off my one last leaf,

then ran away - that little thief!

So there I stood, ignored, alone.

I was a poet tree, unknown.

Exposing all my worthless whims,

the breezes weaved around my limbs.

The days were long and getting cold.

I knew that I was growing old.


A gentleman came strolling by

who paused a bit.  I don't know why.

He was a man, quite elderly

who found an old leaf under me.

He picked it up and for a while,

I thought I saw a little smile.

He contemplated for a time

and then reread my dead leaf rhyme.


I'm not a poet tree, they say

so yes, my poems blow away.

But high in humble love they sail -

across the plains and over vale,

over seas and over shores,

before they rest near Heaven's doors.

They're found by men of humble heart

whose souls are touched and set apart.


Let colored leaves not camouflage

those covered trees that sabotage

the perfect rhymes of poet's love

which blow as snow from God above.

God's love is oftentimes disguised

from people who are mesmerized

by pretty leaves that promise bliss

and worlds of joy and happiness.


But seasons come and seasons go

as brooks and streams and rivers flow.

They never stop.  They never end.

If only man could comprehend.

For sailing from the empty trees

are tears of love inside the leaves.

So leaves as these are worth the rhyme

and fly along on winds of time.


©2015 louis gander

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Submitted: Sunday, November 22, 2015

Last Updated: Sunday, November 22, 2015

About the Poet
Born in Richland Center, Wisconsin in 1954. It's the poem's message that matters- not the poet.

Other Poems by Louis Gander

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