These beautiful corpses
				Decaying on the grass
				These once emerald symbols
				Of seasons now past,
				The fierce red
				The frightened yellow
				The accepting orange
				Each joins their fellow
				For their ultimate end
				Right here and now
				None can cling forever
				To the trees’ boughs,
				One by one
				Each of them flies
				Towards the ground
				Where they will die
				Beneath rain boots
				That crunch on their faces
				While naïve new buds
				Will eventually take their places
				Unaware that the same fate
				Shall befall them
				In Autumn late.

Image by David Mark from Pixabay