Moonshadows

The moon casts silver shadows across my pebbled way.
Stones echoing the velvet recesses where they lay.
My heart follows no compass as it weaves its random path.
No drone marks its progress or charts its vagrant math.
A clipped leaf dries upon my chest where it has been thrust
and slowly, in the evening wind, turns from green to rust.

For The Sunday Whirl Wordle 772  the prompt words are:
velvet compass echo random rust silver shadow pebble stone drone clip dry