It’s common knowledge autumn leaves
were meant to wither, shuffle down.
And in their veins, remains of green,
you read the manuscript of brown.
So as you walk among the leaves
and hear their crackling, rustling sound,
you’ll find a spring and summer’s tale
in scattered pages on the ground.
Then winter adds a chapter too
by covering pages with its snow.
Soon spring will come and newborn leaves
repeat the story we all know.