The Dead Leaves
The long-dead leaves flutter, drift away, The gales of sobriety hard upon their feet, This season beckons strife’s unyielding sway. Here, Nature joins us for undying sweets.
Alas, what a weary sigh floats upon the ground, As down they drift to share the wretched core, With icy breaths and fading beauty surround, Our lazy lives styled in passionate adore.
- Charles Baudelaire