Fall Reminds Me of the Dying

Fall reminds me of the dying.

I want to take the leaves -red, yellow, purple and orange-
and bring them in by the vase-full. I want each leaf
to feel warmth trace the lacework of its body
one final time before it fades into the dust
below winter's white.

And when the wind carries the last leaf to its rest
I want to say I have not worn the black clothes of mourning,
have not made mockery of those in seeming slumber --those leaves
who are dreaming green, warm and covered thick in hoarfrost

Life rests, sleep sustains the trees, and spring will come.