After the rain, boughs that just yesterday
still waved golden leaves, stand revealed,
poking their bare branches into low clouds.
Beneath them, as far as the eye can see,
a poem of fallen leaves is newly written
on the grass. Its countless verses
tell the tale of the life and death adventure,
the mystery and wonder of dancing in the sun,
never knowing what a day will hold,
but each having its measure of beauty.
And then the final letting go, the sailing
in the wind to the earth below,
and the breathing of the final song:
Home. Home. Home.