Autumn 2007
The leaves of brown
Come tumbling down,
The song says, but
The reds, the golds, the
Oranges, the yellows
Join them in drifting
To earth to compost in
The forest, to be raked
In the cities and towns
To be burned or collected
Or piled on trash heaps,
Or arranged in vases
To celebrate the season;
Were all the dying leaves
Brown the dreariness
Would overcome the spirit
Yet the variations on the theme
Of the shades of death
Only remind that beauty
Beyond human imagination
Lives beyond the grave.
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