Falling Leaves

        FALLING LEAVES

We fall, swirl, drift, drop, ride the winds,

Rush to ground, behind cold waves, chills

And depravations of sun and light.

Where we stop our guardian knows.

Westward we're rushed to yards and cornered patios. 

Piles, piled up, we reckon that raking or cursing will whoosh us away.

We're fiery red, orange, brown, yellow useless things now.

Crisp, worn-out - though often each one of us falls

Alone, silently to earth. God only knows how each fall ends.