The Coming of Autumn

Autumn is time of fall and time of breaking;
Our independent colours burn from green
And in late valleys the last fruits are taken

From nerveless boughs; the ranks of pickers leave
These cold trees to a winter's lonely shaking.
Wet roads drive on and interlock and weave

Past fallen leaves which mark the time of burning
Come round again. And, as the tree will grieve
Waking into a naked April morning

To learn the full significance of loss,
Trie family finds one heart no more returning
And bears departure like a bitter cross

Which he, far off, no longer feels, awaking
To new fruition. The parents turn and toss
With fire at their hearts. But fallen leaves are dross;
Autumn is time of breaking and of burning.