The Woe of Fall 

Before the woe of fall  

I wonder if leaves   

Know their fathers  

From the forest crown   

To the quiet ground


If the birds will sing  

And nest a knot  

Of twigs and sharp thorns  

Among the top  

Families will grow  

Before leaves will rot


The soil beneath  

Will catch them softly  

While people watch  

Hands on their coffee  

Pointing at the the crown  

Of empty boughs  

And the maple mounds


The roots will welcome  

The leaves, all brown  

And teach it, of its father  

With the peace of the ground


Their life is not wasted  

Re-birthed when the sounds  

Of birds and summer  

Comes back around


Their fathers will be standing  

To find them again  

While they wait   

For the final wind against winter 

Before the final woe of fall