Tell me why leaves are like feathers.
Can you make me a pair of wings?
They will be yellow in the summer,
And red in flyaways autumn brings.
In the winter, will they crumble to skeletons?
Will they blow away to nothing in the wind?
When I rest, will they curl and crack at the edges?
I’m not sure how well dead leaves will mend.
Will you build me wings out of leaves?
Paint me a picture of the house I grew up in.
Let me fly away, to an ocean island,
And on my wings, I’ll begin again.
These leaves are skeletons, empty maps of veins;
They're not so like feathers anymore.
We were bound together, you and I;
Born again endless times - and forevermore.