The Stowaway

Upon my head fell a yellow leaf,
Stowed away as an autumn thief.

Wet and soggy from last night rain,
To wet and sog and rain my brain.

Plucking off the leaf though dead,
Seemed full of life upon my head.

From death it gave no life or essence
But did, to me, give joy and presence.

Did it give it’s life for me,
It’s cozy spot high in the tree,

Or was it for a greater good,
To colour up the neighborhood,

So all my friends would feel as I,
Glad these leaves had caught their eye.