Autumn’s Dirge

The leaves drift down each day
As life has slipped away,
Cascades of color greet
The death that they soon meet…

The days are growing dim,
Retire with faces grim;
The birds have sailed the skies—
We follow through our sighs…

But still we linger here
And cast away our fear;
Why are we walking on?
We hold the hope of dawn…

© Benjamin Graber
bgraber@neo.rr.com