The autumn tree by Nigel Carrington

The autumn tree stands quiet and wise,
Its leaves like embers against gray skies.
Gold turns to copper, red to deep brown,
As summer’s green slowly settles down.

Each leaf a memory, drifting free,
Soft whispers released from the ancient tree.
They spiral downward, unafraid,
Blanketing earth in a fire-colored parade.

The branches creak with a knowing sigh,
Bare fingers reaching as geese fly by.
Roots hold fast while the world grows cold,
Trusting the cycle the seasons have told.

And though it sheds what it cannot keep,
The autumn tree does not truly sleep—
For in its silence, strong and still,
It dreams of spring beyond the hill.