The Falling of the Autumn Leaves
Falling, they float gently to the ground,
Soaring on the gentle breeze, around and around,
Crimson, pumpkin, gold, and maroon,
Bursts of color across the countryside are strewn,
Gathering underneath a canopy of boughs,
Resting against ancient trunks away they drowse,
Blazing in natural splendor,
As their life they gently surrender
The autumn chill comes rushing in,
Filling every corner, every crevice, every clef that’s ever been,
Withering, wilting, weakening, wasting, waning they lay,
Into a sea of brown their bright colors give away,
That once glorious verve of life, now crumbling into dust,
They line both city sidewalks and country roads, not being unjust,
At last the winter frost gently blankets them in a shroud while all grieve,
Behold, the dying of the autumn leaves