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.
© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2016.