John Shea - A poem

I cradle the travelers in their windy Birth,
My name is Mother....Mother Earth.

I Give them a bed in nature to lie,
When they hear that sweet lullaby.

I wash them in my rivers and streams.
Thier furtive flight is a product of dreams.

When the dream ends and they always come clean.

They thank me with colors and odors of fall,
And remind me to give Old Man Winter a call.

What am I?
The leaves inspired by,
The one who says,
'Semper Fi '

John Shea

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-poem-45/