Second week of September, date: thirteen
Trembling in the breeze, leaves of green
Dread the meandering descent to death
The inevitable end, the final breath.

Grief fades in with the yellows and reds
Beneath lies the ground: a bleak deathbed.
Ephemeral beings once-emerald leaves are
Fleeing from the night: the night with no stars.

But fruitless is this endeavor, this fantasy
Conceived to defy the harsh reality
For escaping the fall is but a dream
A collection of hopes wishful in the extreme.

Only on the eve of the foreseen end
Do the leaves see the evil of this trend:
Countless lives lived only to prelude
The endless darkness nothing can preclude.

Oh, they scream, farewell, pathetic life
That excessive agony, and distressing strife.
With a heave, from the branches fall the leaves
And thus eternal peace is finally achieved.