Autumn Times
© 2012 Rolland G. Smith
Who knows which leaf will leave its stem
When autumn breezes blow.
Do angels know or higher yet
When looking down below?
Fall winds are cool and gentle too
To brush the leaves off tree.
One here, two there, and then a group;
A sprinkling-floating spree.
Are leaves, like man, to pass when done
Or is there something more?
Or is there knowing ‘neath the bark
When they must seek the floor?
Within the glory of their green
There lies a splendor bright.
There’s crimson reds and mottled gold
Oh! What a magic sight.
But soon the colors fade to tan
And all that’s left are trees.
Their leafy flesh is gone for now
But there is no unease.
The trees know more than man can think
And all they do is wait.
But man must reason to his core
And wonder ‘bout his fate.
Its true for man that past his flesh
There is a spirit soul
That lives forever-learning love
Despite each earthly role.
So what of leaves that leave their stem
When autumn breezes blow?
Do angels know or higher yet
When looking down below?
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