Anna Marsden

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Another Kind Of Autumn

Another Kind of Autumn

It is always time for the shedding of leaves
From the tree that is the human heart;
It knows no season, but, from the start,
Of the final tally there is no telling-
And the leaves they are falling, falling.

Flecked yellow gold brown, they drift to the ground;
Some are wrenched green by the winds of change.
Birds come and go, they roost, they depart,
For other climes and times are a-calling,
And the leaves they are falling, falling.

The years tear out the leaves in small griefs and large,
And they spiral down to form piles on the ground,
Fidget and drift in mutinous cohort;
In their colourful shawls they go sprawling,
For the leaves they are falling, falling.

Sometimes the sky turns black to herald a storm-
An army of mighty winds will shake the tree,
Break off whole branches - a ruthless battle fought
And won, leaving the tree maimed beyond recalling.
And still the leaves are falling, falling.

Each spring restoring nature will return
To green a tree, but the greenery of the heart
Will never grow back; and with such lack
We must learn to live, not wailing but smiling,
As the leaves they go falling, falling.

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