Life’s vibrant green they were, but brittle.
…With flowing red, they fell.
No wind, yet some still moved a little;
…Some screamed their private hell.
Some lay there lifeless, growing colder,
…To Winter sacrificed.
The meek nor brave would get no older –
…They found Fall over-priced.
Some leaves were left till wind stopped blowing;
…They raked those in the morn.
Now in their beds, they’re no more growing
…Till Gabriel blows his horn.
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© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2016.
The Bard on the Hill 
What a powerful poem!
Thank you! I wrote it after reading a trilogy on the Civil War where the author described the dead, dying, and wounded being left on the battlefield over night at times (or longer).
Very sad.
Yes, nice poem bard.