A strange thing it is
That leaves would fall
At the peak of their beauty
Silky leaves would turn to dust
As the yellow of the sun fades away
And it turns from Summer
Now into Fall
The days grow shorter
A ribbon of chill within the breeze
Your bare feet tuned still to asphalt frequencies.
The trunk brought bare
As beauty falls
Frost grips with intent
The budding Spring a distant image
Hope is lost for the tree to stand
The Earth passes away
All Kingdoms fall
But yet remaining
The beauty that is who you are
Like the leaves that fall, but eternally known.