By the time the wind
 can take the leaves
they're shattered and yellow;
 they whirl-a-whirl a while
but then sink,
 they're the ground's.

As fast as the clouds leave,
 fresh tribes arrive;
all of the wide sky's strung
 with their traveling.

You who once knew me,
 you might think that that's
where my heart was, high.
 But these days I declare myself
on the side of the leaves,
 which, for all that the wind
can tear at them,
 stay with their trees;

though their shaking's extreme,
 though their staying's wild.