With the first wind of autumn
You fall, with a spin, to the ground.
You reach for a mother branch
And stretch your hand across her boundless abyss.
Your brothers join, dressed in similar vestments:
Pallid green, tarnished brown, and rotting yellow—
All colors of change and passing time.
They are beautiful; they are stained with fleeing life.
Common lineage races inside you
Beside the longing for eternal kinship
And the Empyrean throbs of each consecutive heartbeat.
Time shall walk forward and you shall forever sleep in His mind.
A wintry coat will soon cover your rest
Though none who walk thereon shall ever know you.