Oh, to be the rising leaf, borne by the autumn wind,
To climb the crisp-air staircase, and regard the world again,
From living, growing columns, of timbers, gnarled and grained,
To the carpet floor of crimson, copper, umbers, burnt and stained,
Oh to be the rising leaf, in search of higher plane.
Oh, to be the rising leaf, borne by October’s gust,
Departed from the tree of life, with death yet to entrust,
Owing to aeolic charge, a breath immortal and divine,
On tawney wing and reckless prayer, ascent achieved if not designed,
Oh, to be the rising leaf, and seize what once was mine.
Oh, to be the rising leaf, borne by the chilling fall,
Freshly cast off from the branch, as fruit, no seed withal,
But fecund be the freedom won as emerald color's reived
The thrall of arbor's over, doom of destiny's deceived,
Oh to be the rising leaf, and leave all other leaves.
Oh, the joy as vector's bend,
The madcap joy of whirlwind,
To rise and fall and rise again,
If but for a moment,
For a moment, a pilot,
For a moment, a force,
For a moment, in flight, wingéd god rebelling,
‘Gainst the Earth, and her decree,
"all that lives return to me"
And respond to her in earnest,
"to be alive, one must be free"
And If the fallen shall fly,
Then to be a ghost I'll vie,
To hover once,
and endlessly.