Journal of Sacred Work

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1. 

   liz Wessel

   November 2, 2007

   On this autumn day I thought I might share this poem written by a Opal Whiteley in her seventh year back in the early 1920’s. Micheal Smith put her poem to music. I heard this recently for the first time sung by artist Anne Hill.
   Brown Leaves
   Now are come the days of brown leaves
   They fall from the trees, they flutter on the ground
   When the brown leaves flutter, they are saying little things
   They talk with the wind, I hear them tell of their borning days
   When they did come into the world as leaves, and they whisper of the hoods they wore then
   I saw them, I used to count them on my way to school
   Today they are talking of the time before their borning days, of the springtime
   They talked on and on, and I did listen on to what they were telling, the wind and the earth in their whisperings
   They told how they were a part of earth and air before their tree borning days
   And now they are going back to grey days and winter, they go back to the earth again but they do not die
   And in the morning of this day that I did listen to these talking of the brown leaves, these talking of the brown leaves, these talking of the brown leaves

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