Crimson leaves drift to the ground
On Autumn's breeze
Floating aimlessly as my thoughts...
Destined to be surrounded
Layer upon layer,
Each leaf having unique
But similar substance.
In their fall awaiting death,
Their beauty has never been
Quite as lovely,
Nor their colors nearly as vivid;
Returning to eventual mulch,
Nourishment for a new beginning;
Only hinting they are renewing life
With a whisper of the wind.