The Leaf

The brittle leaf seems heavy today.

Strong winds can’t make it flutter

nor can sweet spring entice it to sway.

For long it has weathered many a rough storms.

Now it hangs frozen with past fears,

awaiting season’s utter-

a streaming sunlight deep and fierce.

Cafe

Quiet becomes the night when lights dim

as the day’s labour is done.

Would a drink pamper the tired limbs?

A cafe breathes on a cobbled stone street-

Just across jingles a two-men band

with a guitar and steel drums,

and I, with a cold beer in hand.