The leaves of the autumn Have no colors - They are weary, tired, And quietly drift down.

The winds that are passing Through their branches, Bring a reminder of places And lives gone by.

When the rain comes And pierces their knees, It is all falling, All falling this way, And then another year.

It becomes a dance of changes, As we look upon the sky, And marvel at the shades That stretch from greens to browns.

• Carl Sandburg