The fall of a dead leaf is a warning to the green ones.
Related quotes
Falling -The Third Second
The stage is Critical!
WarnING!
Warning I am F U
UK
(In between there is a complement of object)
Kilogram Esperenza Detergent.
This Message is clear
'It is a Warning'
Check this out!
You are dead!
DEAD!
Not dad!
And daddy!
Weakness and weakened
Light
Comes to clear my mind
Full of stuff of life
kids stuff,
Adult stuff,
And other stuff that are strange to mine.
It actually does not depend on ages
It just come
It leaves you
Releases you
Unleashes you.
Here,
I see myself dead
Without being dead.
Like see
'a dead dog'
'a darling dead dog'
or just
'anonymous dog'
I fall,
Full Fall.
Wake up!
'Réveils toi! '
In French, sorry for that.
And
The fall does not cease
or stop.
poem by Atef Ayadi
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Elegy On The Death Of A Church Mouse
‘Colonel Gaddafi is dead; long live Gaddafi’,
- whose words those are?
don’t shoot, don’t shoot,
enough blood is spilled!
Gaddafi,
a leaf from the tree is dead;
leaf sprouts, leaf eats, leaf sleeps in the sky,
leaf waves the world in the cheer of palm,
makes no sand out of storm,
no beating themselves by the horse drain,
no hanging noose by the cock’s strain.
Leaf feeds the tree with green
when upon it’s tender face, the horrid-sun shine,
leaf, bearer of flower, bearer of seed,
never the taster of the sap from earth
till drops dead in the paleness of red,
‘don't shoot, don't shoot,
upon the sand is blood,
for the Colonel is dead’,
said, the tree,
and said, ‘Long live Gaddafi!
poem by Saranyan Bee
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Nothing Last Forever
The dry leaf falls
warning to the green ones
nothing last forever.
poem by Enebeli Ifyprada
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Autumn Song
Know'st thou not at the fall of the leaf
How the heart feels a languid grief
Laid on it for a covering,
And how sleep seems a goodly thing
In Autumn at the fall of the leaf?
And how the swift beat of the brain
Falters because it is in vain,
In Autumn at the fall of the leaf
Knowest thou not? and how the chief
Of joys seems--not to suffer pain?
Know'st thou not at the fall of the leaf
How the soul feels like a dried sheaf
Bound up at length for harvesting,
And how death seems a comely thing
In Autumn at the fall of the leaf?
poem by Dante Alighieri
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Autumn Song
Know'st thou not at the fall of the leaf
How the heart feels a languid grief
Laid on it for a covering,
And how sleep seems a goodly thing
In Autumn at the fall of the leaf?
And how the swift beat of the brain
Falters because it is in vain,
In Autumn at the fall of the leaf
Knowest thou not? and how the chief
Of joys seems—not to suffer pain?
Know'st thou not at the fall of the leaf
How the soul feels like a dried sheaf
Bound up at length for harvesting,
And how death seems a comely thing
In Autumn at the fall of the leaf?
poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti (1883)
Submitted by anonym
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The element of determination
I will be the last leaf
To fall
From this tall tree
This fall
Was my thinking
When I chose to strike
Three months back
On a much extended
Branch of this oak tree
By the side of the road
Things started changing
Over the period
And there was
A steady dropp in temperature
Many leaves much above me
And by the side of me
Changing colours
From yellow to purple
Waiting for the ultimate fall
But I am yet to change
Maintaining my original green
Active still producing
Carbohydrates with my chlorophyl
Despite the weak solar input
I was very happy
As most of the leaves
Have fallen
Changing the colour
Of the lawn beneath
From the grassy green to
The leafy yellow
It so happened
That I was the lone green leaf
In the entire tree
Left unturned to yellow
The very next afternoon
A scientist, botanist must be,
Reached over me
Standing on a ladder
Examined me with a
Magnifying glass
Ran his fingers over me
And to my dismay
Plucked me from the branch
Though crying within
I was glad
I am the last leaf
To fall
“Dr Wilson, what could be
There special in this leaf
Which managed to stand green
And strong so long
With no signs of falling
Even at the peak of
This fall”
Said Dr Van Buren,
The botanist
A portion of mine
Was bleached
A portion of mine
Was digested in acid
My extracts
Were chromatographed,
Electro-phoresised
Atomic absorption spectrographed
Dr Wilson
Phoned up to
Dr Van Buren
“There is nothing analysed
Abnormal and special
With the contents
Of the leaf sample
Given here for anaysis.
But, I could sense
The element of determination
In this leaf
Which made it
Strick on
Despite all odds”
poem by Bashyam Narayanan
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Dear women!
Autumn Leaf!
I couldn’t love you as I did when you were green.
Summer Leaf!
I don’t shunt you as I would when you turn yellow.
Tender Leaf!
Reap while being green and stop expecting later.
30.08.2008
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Gray Room
Although you sit in a room that is gray,
Except for the silver
Of the straw-paper,
And pick
At your pale white gown;
Or lift one of the green beads
Of your necklace,
To let it fall;
Or gaze at your green fan
Printed with the red branches of a red willow;
Or, with one finger,
Move the leaf in the bowl--
The leaf that has fallen from the branches of the forsythia
Beside you...
What is all this?
I know how furiously your heart is beating.
poem by Wallace Stevens
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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Looking Back At The Greens
i too look back at those green things
from the point of view of my
green thumb
a vegetable garden without an aphid on a leaf
a row of roses, lush green leaves
and red blooms
some petals falling due to the
wind
a line of green mint trees along the path
leading to the highway
sounds of motors threatening what green there is
i come back and settle on this patch
of green meadows
and grass and gray shade
my own shadow cast
on the huge gabi leaf.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Came without warning
Came without warning
Your love came without warning
I have no escape and deeply fall
Now you are my heart
My life, My soul
Please dont leave me for I will fall
By. D.C.D 2009/05/30
poem by Desiree C. D.
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The Fall of The Honest Man
THIS IS for you
an honest
dignified man
whose word
is steel
whose fire is pure
you shall fall
as God allows it
but it shall
be as gentle as
a yellow leaf
and the breast of the river
receives you
well
for there
dead must you
be
but full of
sweet dreams
on sleep
as tender as
the shower of rain
on the green grass
early
morning
so quiet...
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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I Want A Warning
History is made, not repeated
And you hide behind words that make you feel needed
And what you read in those books made you so conceited
So in order for love to be true
My dreams will have to
Become my only rules
I want a warning
I want a warning
I want something more than a warning
I've been warned about you
I see through all your promises and warnings
I want a warning
I want a warning
I want something more than a warning
I've been warned about you
I see through all your promises and warnings
Wake me up on into a world outdated
And the older you get the more you seem jaded
As you search for the quotes to make it seem complicated
So in order for love to be true
Even my nightmares
Become my only rules
I want a warning
I want a warning
I want something more than a warning
I've been warned about you
I see through all your promises and warnings
I want a warning
I want a warning
I want something more than a warning
I've been warned about you
But I've seen through
Every promise is a warning
I want a warning
I want a warning
I want something more than a warning
I've been warned about you
I see through all your promises and warnings
I want a warning
I want a warning
I want something more than a warning
I've been warned about you
I've seen through
For a promise of a warning
song performed by by Idlewild
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Dead Leaf
between these two shores
i float like a dead leaf
am not dead either..
if i was i will not feel the pain
budded flowered and became a fruit
on one shore
eaten and as a bare stray seed laid
at the other shore
as a seed i did germinate
the mother root grew into a tree
an off spring flower and fruit came by
all along as a seed i thought i was the tree itself
I NEVER THOUGHT I WILL LOOSE
MY IDENTITY AS A SEED
CAN A TREE SHOW ITS SEED
EVEN IF IT WANTS TO
ALL ALONG...
I thought i was the tree itself
may be i was a part of each part
the stem to hold, the leaf to nourish
till fate wind blew me down as a dead leaf
today as a dead leaf i float
wanting a living from one shore
wanting relationship from the other
as a dead leaf i float..am not dead with pain
ALL ALONG....
I DID THINK I WAS THE TREE ITSELF
BEING JUST A SEED
poem by Samanyan Lakshminarayanan
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Death is a washout.
Once you are dead,
You are the yesterday’s paper.
The hot news is forgotten.
Once you are dead
You are the fallen leaf.
No speck of green is found.
Fortunately you will not be there
To witness and weep.
09.12.2005
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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A Bugle Played
A bugle as a warning played
From a watchman in the spire
Allowed a city to defend itself
From attack by Tater fire
An one of the attackers saw
The bugler making the warning call
And with arrow fired pierced his throat
Causing the music to cease and man dead to fall
And to this day in that town
That music it is played
From the same spire on the same church
Where once it was a warning to a people afraid
A siren then, why is it now
That sounds of danger are so plain
Why cant he have something as sweet
As the Hejnals sweet refrain?
poem by Tomás Ó Cárthaigh
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The Leaf And The Tree And The Roots
if i had to write it again
then i had to, as i must
let you fully understand
the true nature of a vine
the way the leaf swerves
with the wind to give itself
to a fateful fall, the one that
completes its existence as
a leaf to a tree, a part of
a whole, the way it must
settle on the ground and
be with the worms and rot
and fulfills the cycle of its
short existence, and by then
it tells the roots, i am a leaf
i am back and you must now
eat everything in me so i can
be with the bark again so i
can be a leaf again to a tree
that holds me back
and then for another time
lets me fall again.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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September
Bedraggled scarecrows cry in the wind
While Blackbirds caw to the trees
As if, voices from the once green wood
While the dead leaves blow free;
Rustles of burnished remnants dance
In visions the gold dying leaf
A pause and wait but never late
As Fall carries in her grief;
Relentless winds of change court September
Descending now-a lifetime of Fall
Season's change make no excuses
For September has, indeed, come to call;
poem by Theodora Onken
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Settled in Nettles
I remember climbing nettles-
Nettles climbing our wooden fence,
The excitement of touching,
The thrill of the blisters-
The red and the oozing
Beneath my long sleeves.
I remember nettle necklaces
Burning the fingers that linked
The green leaves- big green leaf
To big green leaf- How
My neck had red blotches
Itchy and sore. I scratched
And then bled and then wore fluffy scarves.
I remember Justin Whiles
Who scrunched up his face and bit
On his lip and tied me with rope
And dragged the green nettles
Over my skin and asked, 'Why
Did we do this again? '
And now in my cabinets are nettles
In jars- jar after jar- big glass
Jars, brimming with nettles,
Their thick green leaves.
And sometimes the night
Gets quiet and cold
And I walk to my cabinets
And pull down the jars
And pull out the nettles
And bite on the leaves
And bite and then chew
And then swallow the leaves-
Leaf after leaf-
Jar after jar-
Till the night's not so silent.
Till I throw up green mulch
In my hands.
poem by Alicia Adams
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Nothing Gold Can Stay
Nature's first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf's a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf,
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day
Nothing gold can stay.
poem by Robert Frost
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Squash in Blossom
How lush, how loose, the uninhibited squash is.
If ever hearts (and these immoderate leaves
Are vegetable hearts) were worn on sleeves,
The squash's are. In green the squash vine gushes.
The flowers are cornucopias of summer,
Briefly exuberant and cheaply golden.
And if they make a show of being hidden,
Are open promiscuously to every comer.
Let the squash be what it was doomed to be
By the old Gardener with the shrewd green thumb.
Let it expand and sprawl, defenceless, dumb.
But let me be the fiber-disciplined tree
Whose leaf (with something to say in wind) is small,
Reduced to the ingenuity of a green splinter
Sharp to defy or fraternize with winter,
Or if not that, prepared in fall to fall.
poem by Robert Francis
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