All the leaves are flying, fleeing, falling;
No more rustling, whistling, swerling.
They’ll rise no highbud till the spring,
Leaves without sound, but sense
they have not died. They’re only in suspense.

Leaves of air fall windsail to the ground
by year down, timefall to terms with God,
as every man and womankind is bound,
kindbound, freebound all, to worms downsod.

Begin your benediction,
In blazes of mother-tree glory,
and end the shame, the contradiction,
leave her stripped, wretched, hoary,
through the winter, blowing, snowing,
all her dark days unknowing.

Leavelost she bares her billion Y’s.
In a billion questions her form is laced.
The leaves had only told her lies
And by sprouting buds they are replaced.

Now rustle not, and rest till spring
When you shall rise from rooting
Seeds, all newness coming forth for good
from melting snow and living wood.
Let darkness fall, there will be light
to brew up morning from the night.