The leaf of autumn quickens most
of all the leaves of all the seasons
—though past its days of surging life,
and many nearby leaves have fallen.
The leaf of spring was soft and curled,
a fragile promise in the making,
the summer’s leaf was full and green,
near bursting with its thirst for growing,
and winter’s leaf has quit its life,
to moistly feed the forest floor.
But autumn’s leaf, just done with green,
displays a careless boldness,
and lives a red and orange dance
before for the winter solstice.
Now I remember what I was,
I think of long past friends and passions
and smile for those who follow me.
I try to let my colors show,
for when I fall to winter’s season,
I will pass for what will be.