Little hymn of broken leaves
The walnut tree in the yard was old.
My mom hired a lumberjack, who
Would later arrive with a quite bold
And slightly annoying attitude.
He started with the smaller branches,
So we could portion the wood later
On, when he would be done with the job.
I was crying, because I missed the
Old walnut tree. And its flying leaves
Encircled me, the last embrace, both
Comfortable and anonymous: meek.
What I did not know, that feeling,
The little hymn of broken leaves, which
They muttered in my ears was simply: change.