Last Year Leaves

Leaves faded brown lie ground to dry dust underfoot,
windblown into drifts and clusters protected below bare hedges.
Buds remain tightly coiled against penetrating chill of late frosts,
watery pale yellow sunshine rays struggle to warm the hard packed earth.

Rustling among crisp leaves caught up between clay pots,
hunger drives out a tiny field mouse darting in search of dropped seeds.
Majestic blue-backed sparrow hawk sits preening on a hedgerow perch,
subduing twittering birds sheltering amid tangled black firethorn twigs.

Copses of upright leaves stand proud between grass spikes,
dragged down for recycling below the turf by juicy wriggling worms.
Oak saplings possessively cling onto flags of stiff curling leaves,
hazels drip with lamb tail catkins stretching after winter’s long sleep.

We drift along the leaf dusty paths,
windblown and huddled protectively.
A hushed sense of expectation in the air,
as last year leaves with the arrival of spring.