Gone is the supple sap of Spring

And leaves hang limply from the sovereign tree

Remembering the time when youth was young

And worlds were green in their fecundity

Yet those old leaves of brittle age

Resplendent in their glorious red and gold

Still have a tale to write upon the page

Still have a final story to unfold

See how they burst in splendid disarray

Colours enhancing these, their final hours

Until that wondrous splendour fades away

And winter shields the empty leafless bowers