crumbly leaves
tell a tale of woe

their misspent youth

a mere haze of glory

here they lay

yesterday’s cast offs

whose  current  claim to fame

is  crunchy carpeting  for wildlife

while their mama’s branches long for baby buds

still swelling deep within

they remain
forgotten

forlorn

forsaken

to almost all

except  the rustle  of the winter winds.

just another rerun
of minutes
people  and places
that still live
inside  
or in front of your face
all jumbled up  vying for  primetime
in your mind's eye
channels  change up
every now and again
to  trailer  new events
breaks the  humdrum reruns
reminds  that  not all days are
same time  , same station.