Blue Leaf

The blue leaf awakened,
when stained by rain,
now one with the stone,
for such was its fate,
full of conundrum,
it asked of me on this day.

Do the cold winds blow
true love from above?
Do the twilight stars shine
above the notes of a song?
Do the crying doves sing
a song of true love?

Does the love from above
touch the trees by the sea?
Does the song float above
the sea in love’s dream?
Does the love in the song
light the dreams of the trees?

Do the trees by the seas
want the cold winds to blow?
Do the seas of love’s dream
light the stars’ shine at twilight?
Do the dreams of the trees
make the singing doves cry?

I asked the blue leaf,
in a soft, whispered plea,
heart to heart with the leaf,
why would it ask about these,
circular questions that sing
of the conundrums of trees?

The dreams of the trees
are held in me, the blue leaf,
the leaf that felt blue,
when it fell from a tree,
for stone I might as well be,
no longer held by a tree.