Leaves of color,

Shining bright,

Waning in the,

Even’ light,

-

Reds and yellows,

Orange too,

Differ on the,

Fading blue,

-

Cannot help but,

See their grace,

Flowing down at,

Their own pace,

-

But I must think,

Of the grounds,

That cause them to,

Tumble down,

-

This vibrant stage,

Which shades cast,

Also has to,

Be the last,

-

For they do die,

When they fall,

Do they from or

To grace fall?

-

For while they hold,

Eyes in awe,

They are dying,

So I saw,

-

One with color,

Shining bright,

May be the one,

With most blight.