I’ve asked myself this question,

And I’ve pondered for a time-

The bond I have with Autumn

And this aging heart of mine.

Far back as I remember

I’ve held within my soul

A love for walks through trees

With patterned leaves of gold.

Each fall I start to gather

A hundred leaves of every shade

And save them into silence--

In oak drawers, they’re softly laid.

To me there is a reverence

For their passing through this time,

A solemn kind of stillness

Wraps around this heart of mine.

And maybe it’s that leaves,

Though parched and old and veined--

Have shown me through their aging