A Leaf Dancing In Dreamland...
Blowing down the street in the heart of the night,
I whirl in the air and skitter over pavement,
Tickling obstacles before rolling over and around,
Spinning color changes in the show-light pools of street lamps.
I am the dry rustle that scares you at first,
The troupe of dancers in the company of foggy-breathed chill nights,
With a supporting cast of fleeting charcoal clouds and blinking twinkle stars.
I am the prophet spectre of a year's ending.
By: Daniel A. Stafford