Green leaves once brilliant with morning's fresh tears glistening so bright
now darkened devoid of life betrayed by winter's first treacherous slight.
Ah, but in your prime you graced this world with your emerald charms
until at last you succumbed to winter's cold embrace, her ever seductive arms.
It is the nature of all things living, to live each day as though it were their last
because fate's wheel of death stops for nothing and time for some passes much too fast.
The sands spiral downward and ink it dries holding steadfast to withered paper
no candle flickers too long or brightly but grows ever shorter and begins to taper.
Just as flowers grow through their season until the last blossom of fall is spent
we too will mourn our youth and all those wonders we were temporarily lent.
Could we see into our future as easily as we view that distant past
would we not change one thing, one hour so those sweet memories might last?