PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

In gold and brown these ladies fair

Drift on down to fill the air

Filled with rustle in their song

The ladies hustle and move on



Detached from all they know and love

They hover gently held above

Then on the wind of softest sigh

They dance and sing and learn to fly



All the sap within their pores

Softly rests neath forest floors

In their prime they danced and sang

Moved with the wind till autumn rang



Now past their prime they yearn for rest

On the forest floor at best

One last dance and then they're done

Lay cold and damp in fading sun



Autumn, autumn tale of woe

For the leaves have bitter flow

Winter comes in nights of dark

The leaves die slowly neath the park



Feed the soil in one last act

Sleep in deep to keep their pact

Come the spring they'll rise once more

Resurrected from the forest floor