High above the fertile land
The first of many leaves descend,
Crying out without a sound,
“Harvest Time then soon to sleep,”
Soliloquy on summer’s end.

Tumbling slowly toward the earth,
Catching now each streak of sun,
It somersaults across the sky,
Kept enthralled by gravity,
Beguiling with each move my eye.

Divided from its tree of life,
Caught by some vague puff of air,
Like some seabird before its dive,
It stalls, but then, unfettered falls
To greet the ground where it will lie.

Its final gravesite yet unknown,
Perhaps a garden’s darkened loam
Where it will disappear ungrieved,
Forgotten for eternity,
Except within my memory.

- Finding the Light of G‑d, page 126