A LEAF does whisper as it falls,
In twilight’s mellow light,
It dances down before the calls
Of winds that sway in flight.

Through scattered brown and crumbled gold,
A tale of seasons past,
It gathers up the sunlit fold,
And settles down at last.

While shadows stretch and deepen ‘round,
A ghost that glints away;
It mingles back with sacred ground,
Where autumn scores the day.

With prayers before the coming snow,
And whispers soft as dew,
Each leaf must pay its debt, and so
Nature is ever true.

— Jones Very

• Jones Very