The dead, brown maple leaves litter the path
Where I walk. Others of its kind dropping
From their lofty homes, victims of the wrath
Of autumns chilling gales, unrelenting,
And tellingly-- stark reminders of death,
Companion through life all of us must face.
I tread over brittle corpses beneath
My feet in their final resting place
And I am reminded of my sister
Poor soul! Who died one chilly October.
I remember the maple leaves that stirred
Around my feet that day she was interred.
Lifeless entities swirling, hurling down
Atop her casket deep beneath the ground.