The leaves are down.

It was a colorful Fall here in the Northeast so I thought this warm October morning should have a little poetic tribute to the changing season. Most of the leaves on my trees are now down.

I now know why we call them leaves;

Too soon they fall when frosted thieves

Lure their green to red and golds

In colors soft and dazzling bolds.

Leaves drop from age and sometimes breeze

To land on lawns by shrubs and trees.

They drift in circles to the ground

In crinkling, cracking, scrunching sound.

O' leaves of branch and bush, behold!

Your service lasts despite the cold,

As quilts of warmth for creatures low

Beneath the ground, before the snow.

Some leaves will sail to lawns serene

Where children's smiles can then be seen

Waiting for the rake and pile

To leap upon and lie awhile.

But soon the crumpled stems and flake

Are raked in rows for match to make

A downey flame and spired smoke;

Incense of honor to the oak.

Then barren trees stand naked, strong,

To slice the wind of winters song.

They lean and bow from bending blow,

When snapping, cracking, to and fro.

I know there is a message here,

Where trees with leaves at end of year

Do molt their husks of leafy sheen

So other seasons can be seen.

Thus trees and man are oft' alike,

In time each shed their aging haik.

What's left in silhouette pristine,

Is life below in spirit green.