The autumn leaves flutter, like memories untold,
Cloaked in fiery colors, crimson, amber, and gold;
With each fall, a reminder that seasons must change,
That life is a circle in beauty, so strange.

The crispness of air brings a whisper of chill,
As Nature prepares for her quiet, still thrill;
In the silence of evenings, a promise is spun,
For endings are but pauses, till cycles are done.

Let me gather the moments as leaves drift away,
For in tender goodbyes, there lies hope for today;
In autumn’s embrace, I learn to let go,
In the dance of the harvest, the seed waits to grow.

• Marcel Proust