Late autumn, leaves falling like a snowstorm to the ground,
Drifting and cavorting on the wind, they make an eerie sound,
Lanes and paths blanketed with this years discarded wear,
Trees welcoming the coming winter, of foliage are stripped quite bare,
Like naked sentinels standing through icy months of snow and rain,
Trying to resist the violent weather, the boughs oft break through strain
Crashing down over exposed boughs to the wind have given way,
Ignominiously left where they fall to callously over the years decay,
Though the oldest trees will pay a price that some consider dire,
Springtime sees most don and show off their newly found attire,
So what goes around will come around for us to marvel at the scene,
A solitary sentinel or forest vast canopied in every shade of green.