Fall Leaves
by Dan Fitzgerald

The last of summer’s leaves
are falling, a silent rain
of greens, yellows and reds
letting go with the touch
of early winter sun.
They land in a gentle, crazy-quilt,
covering the lawn.
I should rake them, I think,
or perhaps mow them to mulch
so they can return what they were given.
Not today I decide,
watching them drift in whatever
breeze finds them.
Today, I will let them be,
content to watch their final release;
sad to see the trees go bare.
They are like old friends
who have grown old with me,
fallen away now, but
leaving glorious memories
in their final rest.



 

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