Beech Leaves

Like drops of rain, the beech leaves fell
And landed on the ground,
And, though I’d lived for quite a spell,
I’d never heard that sound.

As soft as moss and hard as nails,
It heard just like the tone
As echoes in the shells of snails
When dashed against a stone.

It was the sound of shooting stars
And ripples on a lake,
And, in its depth, I heard some bars
Of songs which foxes make.

The leaves, though, never ceased to fall,
And so I didn’t hear them all.

Photo by Lucas van Oort on Unsplash

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