The fall leaves drift along the quiet creek

As if their fate on jagged rocks to seek.

The rapids interrupt their silent ride

And sort them—trapped or passed or cast aside.

So we, in tranquil times, as leaves are cast

Upon life’s placid waters, drifting past

Until misfortune’s rocks come into view

And stop us, change our course, or let us through.

I have often remarked that I my poems are not particularly “metaphorical,” perhaps only vaguely sensing what I meant by that. This poem surely is metaphorical, seeing, as it does, a life lesson in the journey of leaves down a creek. The poem does not offer much in the way of advice, of course, but perhaps it does represent a more overtly philosophical direction in my poetry.

 The poem was completed on 10/22/2003.

 
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