Brisk is the breeze, that from the North doth come

Whispering through the trees, as it plucks Autumns leaves.

Into a whirl they do spin.

With colors so brilliant, into the air they go, landing softly

On morning frost that glistens from the pale moon’s glow.

All is quiet, as this death goes on and on unheard,

Having come now to a glorious end.

What came forth as a small bud on a bare and quivering tree,

Just a few short months ago, will soon lie in quiet,

Covered by a thick blanket of snow.

So sad, but beautiful it is, you see.

For much like the leaves, are you and me.

Come forth, we do, from our mothers shaking limbs

All new and clean into a world that had been unseen.

Nourished and fed, we begin to grow.

So, it is...that like the leaves we be.

And all too soon, we are shaken from Life’s tree.

The only difference there be….

Is the choices in life that we have made

Will determine our destiny,

As we to our snowey grave go.

Whereas the leaves return to the earth, our spirit lives on,

And our choices that we have made, as we grew on the Tree of Life,

Will determine whether we too come to a glorious end,

Or that we be cast into the earth.

As our souls suffer eternity's flames,

Where we, as dead leaves are burned.

J. Allen Wilson 2002/2003