Memory's tender bright green leaves of spring and summer life,
Of happiness and joy; all its frustrations and its strife.
Flutter in the breeze of time and serve their purpose well,
But who can know what autumn brings; it's course but few can tell.

For some, leaves turn to sunset gold as to life's end graceful cede,
While for others fate will intervene and to a less kind prospect lead.
If lucky the season lingers, with faithful foliage left intact,
But for many, rough winds sudden blow that are early winter backed.

Life's tree can from the year recede with its season not yet done,
Deprived of full verdure too soon before its course is run.
For others, the sun through autumn shines and winds are held at bay,
And leaves will until winter, though discoloured, graceful stay.

A tree without its foliage is but a frame that held the leaves,
And with these gone it now knows not for what it unknown grieves.
Its erstwhile full-leaf memories are now scattered here and there,
And everything which made the tree is gone and cruel stripped bare.