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