Leaves Poem by Sexaginta Prista

The leaves were falling, making graceful pirouette,
joining already many in the multicolored bouquet,
still looking fresh and yellow, not tore and brown,
but not for long, once fallen down?
All of them were on the tree once, but the time was up,
what left is a slow death and decay in the mud.

Blossomed once as a bunch, but some grew high,
getting all the sun, reaching for the sky.
Others were not so lucky, growing in the shade,
fighting for every beam, born destine to fade.
So many were still up there,
waiting to fall down or to be spared.

That was then, now was autumn.
It is a wheel with no shame and no glory.
All of them would head for the ground.
It was always the same story.
No matter how high or low grown in the past,
they had their role till the cycle last.

The cold wind was blowing, shaking every tree,
creating wave after wave of falling leaves spree.
The trees still would be waiting for the next spring,
surviving the winter, so new leaves to bring.
The old leaves were falling in a rainy autumn day,
joining all the others in the muck of decay.