Shreds: “Paper Leaves”

They all depart, I sit upon the faint
Smile that I, despite, do wear,
Wondering if I am at all aware,
I rise, I fly, I fall, and then stay,
With paper leaves dried by day,
From winter’s last month, spent,
From which I steal its lament,
And cold words to describe hell my way.
Here I stroll, as in garden paths,
With measured steps, nearly still,
To not tread upon the violets’ will,
Sown with hope and restraint’s arts.