The crimson leaves
Profilerate  the maples
Each breeze removing their
clinging fingers to the  beauty
of life.

Floating winding decending
to the fragrances of autumn.
That aroma of things to come
irresistible yet dangerous

They decend into
the the Maelstrom
of the season's.
As they always have.

No more the nightingale
Or the resting swallow
Shall adorn it's leafy conclave.

Only skeleton branches
Pointing like fingers
Into the breath of winter

Within its aincent tired roots.
Beating stronger
than any human heart.
It has a vision.

Of buds unfurled
A green that no other spring
has ever ever seen.
of renewal that lives
deep inside a knowledge.
Far stronger than human intellect.
Of a rebirth that
Perhaps lives in everything
Even creatures as temporary
and frail as us.