Everyday they fall. The leaves
tumble down through branches, tossed
by rolling breeze, find their way
to mother earth, shaken out
like threadbare rugs, freed
from dust, from the lively flesh
that filled out their netting.
They wonder, am I more true or less
nestled again in this damp home,
changed so from my high flying days?
I, too, wonder how the trees bear
this sad loss, to come again and again.
Enjoying Daniel Ladinsky’s wonderful translation, A Year With Hafiz.