Again the leaves are turning brown,
Now autumn’s on its way.
Not many, though, have fallen down
Since summer still holds sway.
As I recall the colour change
From all the years before,
My eyes detect the fallen range
That decks the forest floor.
More recent ones have kept their shape,
But most have turned to dust,
Reminding me there’s no escape;
Decaying is a must.
Yet, like a tree that’s evergreen,
My knowing this remains pristine.
Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash
