A Leaf Alone

A maple leaf lies in a pile

Midst leaves of many kinds.

Of oak, of birch, of chestnut tree,

Of dogwood, beech, and pine.

"But there is not

Among the lot

Another to be found

Quite like myself." Such thoughts as these

Move her to a frown.

"Now dogwood, beech, and pine are grand.

They each one have their place.

But none of these quite understands

My heart, my hopes, my place."

The sap of rowan

Is not her own.

So though she's pressed around

With hearts most dear, her soul still pines,

"Alone! Amidst a crowd."

For friends they are, each quite unique,

And dear she holds them all.

"Yet tis not Home!" the maple cries.

Then softly comes a call,

"I know you would

Be understood.

And though it pains me too,

Were you content in this pile to sit,

How would I you then woo?"

So speaks the Wind to the lonely leaf

As through the pile He moves.

She starts, she turns, a whispered balm

Her pain begins to soothe.

She lifts again

Held close by Him,

And though her hope is worn,

In her soul the glint of a smile begins.

A thought her shy heart starts to spin.

"Alone. And yet, alone with Him!"

She sighs as she blows toward home.