CHANGING OF THE GUARD

The leaves turn and now let go of their grip on limbs
they've been tenaciously clinging to for the past year,
mounds of leaves in yards and parks ground themselves,
getting ready for winter's call; each year I love the shifting

of light for fall, from one season to the next, fading colors
say "notice me," and I imagine them as martyrs dying as
this shift happens, vibrant colors steadily fade, dying to
self, some esoteric plan they do not understand, mysteriously

fulfilling, poetic, rigorously adhering to what's set In motion
by God's hand to show the way to what they can't know, about
nature's inherent design, which lends itself to be part of this
changing of the guard, from one season to the next.