Colors Falling

They cling for their lives,
As they search for
Just one more tomorrow,
One more day of life.
But the fourth season
Has arrived with its icy grip,
And tomorrow is but a dream,
A mystery that will never be realized.
Clinging still,
The winds come
And they are finally
Blown from their perch.
Like crackling rain,
Colors falling,
Littering the ground
With colored stars.
Even in their death
They provide us with
The beauty that’s caught
The eye for centuries past
And many more to come.
They are the object
Of many artist canvass.
And for another year
We will remember their passing…
And eagerly await
The new growth of Spring.

The End