I am the Autumned Leaf
falling from your Midnight Tree at the height of Summer;
Midnight was the only time we could meet;
and I am now a flickering in the moonlight,
teeter-tottering downward, unseen;
my leafy veins showing;

my severing is accompanied by
this glittering decent where the silver light
of the Moon's Midnight
gives me my final sheen,

my last swan-dive,
dizzy, zig-zagged
memories;
crashing downs,
lost longings.

My leaf never looks better
than when falling,

or when dying from Love Lost,
floating down dead
in summer swelterings.

That is how it is when love flees,
we are then all falling autumn leaves
no matter what the season is.

We land, on the carpeted forest floor
among the other leaves
who all lie quietly-
not talking;
orphaned at Midnight;
Autumned in Summer
says it all;
 

but faint hopes and soft laments
nonetheless whisper:
 

"Sorrow not:
dead leaves
provide for next years growth.

This is not the end
but the beginning of a new,

true ,

Summer;
and often some of us lie still
for many seasons
awaiting a new flower;
for summer surely
follows autumn;
eventually.