As wind and autumn blew,
spending what was left of their season,
we gathered the change that they left behind.
The lyrics they had written against the sky with their leaves,
falling – verse after verse.
A quiet ballad.
An ode to time’s passing.
Written in orange-gold leaf,
a testament to every moment, fleeting.
Here then gone.
And we watched them go.
We even heard them land.
murmuring underneath the day’s cool breath.
Telling their secrets.