The sugar maple leaves shimmer
purest yellowgold on a brisk November morning.
They writhe helplessly
against the clutches of a relentless north wind.
Some fail and are torn away from their homes
to disappear on the breeze
forever gone.
I wonder if there is sadness in the parting
and if they feel any pain,
but for some questions I guess there are no answers.
I am left only to wonder in awe
at the beauty of the dance
and the splendor of their dying.