Leaf poetry is one of the best ways to appreciate the beauty of nature. And by celebrating the beauty of nature, these poems also raise awareness about environmental issues.
Leaf poetry is a way of painting a picture with words. Like how we enjoy looking at the different colors of leaves in the fall.
Poets write poems describing how beautiful and unique each leaf is.
Today, on this page, we will share some beautiful poems about leaves.
A leaf, one of the last, parts from a maple branch:
it is spinning in the transparent air of October, falls
on a heap of others, stops, fades. No one
admired its entrancing struggle with the wind,
followed its flight, no one will distinguish it now
as it lies among the other leaves, no one saw
what I did. I am
the only one.
For woods are forms of grief
grown from the earth. For they creak
with the weight of it.
For each tree is an altar to time.
For the oak, whose every knot
guards a hushed cymbal of water.
For how the silver water holds
the heavens in its eye.
For the axletree of heaven
and the sleeping coil of wind
and the moon keeping watch.
For how each leaf traps light as it falls.
For even in the nighttime of life
it is worth living, just to hold it.
The one red leaf, the last of its clan,
That dances as often as dance it can,
Hanging so light, and hanging so high,
On the topmost twig that looks up at the sky.
When The Leaves Fly
By Bliss Carman
When the leaves are flying,
Across the azure sky,
Autumn on the Hill top
Turns to say goodbye;
By Thomas Bailey Aldrich
October turned my maple’s leaves to gold;
The most are gone now; here and there one lingers:
Soon these will slip from out the twigs’ weak hold,
Like coins between a dying miser’s fingers.
By Ruby Archer
Autumn leaves, why deck yourselves
In these brilliant hues?
Is it work of fairy elves,
Fairies to amuse?
Is it that you would prepare?
For your latest breath,
Cleopatra-like, be fair
For the sting of death?
If I Could Write Words Poem
By Spike Milligan
If I could write words
Like leaves on an autumn forest floor,
What a bonfire my letters would make.
If I could speak words of water,
You would drown when I said
‘I love you.’
‘Fall, Leaves, Fall’
By Emily Jane Brontë
Fall, leaves, fall; die, flowers, away;
Lengthen night and shorten day;
Every leaf speaks bliss to me
Fluttering from the autumn tree.
I shall smile when wreaths of snow
Blossom where the rose should grow;
I shall sing when night’s decay
Ushers in a drearier day.
Trees in Autumn
By John Jay Chapman
The poets have made Autumn sorrowful;
I find her joyous, radiant, serene.
Her pomp is hung in a deep azure sky
That turns about the world by day and night,
Nor loses its bright charm.
And when the trees resign their foliage,
Loosing their leaves upon the cradling air
As liberally as if they ne’er had owned them,—
They show the richer for the nakedness
That weds them with the clarity of heav’n.
Like a joy on the heart of a sorrow,
The sunset hangs on a cloud;
A golden storm of glittering sheaves,
Of fair and frail and fluttering leaves,
The wild wind blows in a cloud.
Hark to a voice that is calling
To my heart in the voice of the wind:
My heart is weary and sad and alone,
For its dreams like the fluttering leaves have gone,
And why should I stay behind?
This is all about the leaf poetry.