Autumn Leaves
The
leaves are falling now
And the
very souls of the trees
Lie
scattered at their own feet
In a
hundred sultry shades of brown and gold.
Decay commences
its inexorable task,
Creating
scents, tobacco-rich, of mouldering earth,
Disturbing
odours of mortality
And
emanations of another passing year.
But here
is fecund fuel for the foraging worms
Whose
treasure the Spring spade will unearth
Or
which will, in its turn,
Be food
for the glorious buds to come.
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