Casualties Are
Leaves fallen
Imaginary
Heartbeats, slowing
Burying in amongst
Themselves.
And we,
Were amazed-
The vibrancy,
The color-
Of the whole
And each leaf
In its frantic dance
Quivering contortionists
Comparable to the infamous
And the large
Are not always
The most bold-
In their slightly-
Lessened state.
We were-
Stunned at the
Magnificence-
As the body-
This great huge oak:
Lets go; to turn
And we see
The skeletal remains
The blackened branches
Of one turned-
Much too early.
Select one
Leaf: its aroma
Not exactly
Dead, dying
Simply sweet
Matching
One sense to
Another
And it is
The rotting
Which we recognize-
It is at the end
Of its circle
These soldiers
Who litter the groung
Their simple,
Oh so beautiful,
Little bodies
And they will not
Be forgotten
Only to be replaced;
Once again
When the birds return
To re-commence
This cycle
And the circle
Continues.