The autumn leaves, they twist and fall, In swirling dances, one and all. With colors bright, they heed the call, Of winter’s breath, as shadows sprawl.

The air is crisp, the sun a ghost, While every branch serves as a host. In this transition, we find the most, Of fleeting moments we all boast.

Amongst the rustling, a story breathes, Of life’s eternal, gentle wreathe. In nature’s cycle, the heart believes, That every end a new life leaves.

• Andrei Bely