Fleeting Fancies

Fleeting fancies fly and fall away from sight and mind

Like the autumnal leaves of yesteryear

That so gently and elegantly are plucked

From spindly branches bare, by the ushering of the breeze

Soon, readily, to be catched by the folding, gentle wind

From which the smell of woodsmoke seems to linger

The stronger ushering, more of a billowing whistle of the wind

Sends out the solitary, falling leaves into a dancing, frenzied

Congregation, a cascading rain of amber and gold

Of which a sound is made of the most gentlest and calming

Upon the ear, the nature of which is a delicate rustling

A charming composition, a combination of rotating motion and dance

Fleeting fancies fly and fall away from sight and mind

Like the elaborate, rowdy sound of the waterfall

So desperate to escape the steep and rugged, rustic slope

Of a hill that's seen and felt more than we can ever imagine

There's boulder-strewn cuts and scars to prove it

A violent, stormy, eternal stream of tears

An angry, brooding brow of slate-grey cloud to prove it

(unfinished)