The Avenue, Claude Monet (1878)

Golden Leaves

Whispering autumn wind came rolling in
Sending shivers to every golden leaf
Many of them beginning downward spin
Without displaying any sign of grief

The remainder held on with a belief
They have value and should somehow survive
Not falling to what they think is a thief
With power as to who remains alive

But are they some sort of romantic fools
Blinded by confusing view what is life
Distorting the basics of nature’s rules
Resisting can only create more strife

Trees stand naked, the golden leaves are gone
All now beneath the snow, none left to mourn