The wind rushes the rustling leaves.
It blows below the boughs in breeze
And bellows boldly as it breathes
Against a branch beholdened to its charge,
That sways to silent melodies
Whilst whistling shudders shuffle trees.
So sapped of all its subtleties,
The leaf grows weak beneath the wind that barks.
“A little rest,” the leaves beseech
By turning golden under siege.
Autumn leaves each alone to breach
The cold and reaching hold within its arms.
But soon the leaves will all concede
To fall and flee from tallest trees.
Stripped bare to face the coming freeze
The branches left by leaves won’t come to harm.
To these, the wind gives no alarm,
As without leaves, the trees are calm.