A summer leaf used to soak light
But never shed it. Only shades
It shared with us. Thus lost its might.
Its mortal form was glass-like chains.
An autumn leaf did outpour
The stolen light mixed with its blood.
‘Whose face gives no light’ the leaf spoke
‘Shall not become a star’ then frowned.
A vernal leaf gave me relief
A turf beneath my molden stone
Is blooming as if it’s convinced
That lucid life it wants to spawn.