Leaves float in and in between,
Some may stick, some may drift,
Some may rise and some may even fall.
Leaves can turn many a color, may not turn or even be dull.
They may be carried away in the rustling wind,
They may dignifiedly color the meadow in a rainbow.
Or be trodden underfoot.
People drift like leaves,
They branch off from security.
They are strong despite the wiles of life.
Or they are shredded when the 'cards turn.'
They can mature, be stagnant or even revert.
The world may carry them away,
Forever lost to the beauty of life.
Or they gracefully add appeal to my life,
if only for a short while.