The days of autumn
paint the boughs of green,
In other palette colors,
like the fruit of tree is seen...
We see the leaves now turn,
at this time, the fall of year,
When other artist hues,
like reds and yellows appear...
Into this colored scene,
a wind blows through the trees,
Detaching foliage, ripen'd,
for nature's currents to seize...
They
fly through the air,
in flight that's all too brief,
They fall upon the ground,
many not, its tree beneath...
I see the falling leaves,
by my window pass...
Carried by the breeze,
beyond my window glass...
I see the ways they move,
off from where they're from:
They move, not all the same,
as down to earth they come...
Sometimes
they hurry down,
and seem to fall so fast,
While others, linger a little,
but adrift, none long doth last...
Some of them ,
flutter by,
Something like
a butterfly...
As
away the leaves they hie,
these should us remind:
Some day, thus go I,
away, as all my kind...
From where I in nature cling
to a twig of the human tree,
And my attachment there,
no longer there I'll be...
― John Riedell
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Rights Reserved
Site Last Updated on 03/31/12