The Falling Leaves

A short poem I love.

This frosted path I tread to gaze on petrified leaves,
These leaves that lived to die for me,
That baked in sun and froze in cold
And fought back the sands, the wind, the thirsting need,
Falling harmoniously now as a thousand leather boots into the grave,
Rest in peace uncles, fathers, brothers, husbands, sons unknown,
Swaddled now in bundles of leaves,
Reminiscent, reminiscent of the forgotten.