To The Leaves Of Autumn Poem by Amelie Ison

Truly, it is sad to see the leaves so dead;
To see them fallen and shrivelled—
Taken by life's seasonal Grim Reaper.
The melancholy to see a tree so bare,
Pieces of its soul (its leaves that were once green)
Just lying there at its feet.

Like soldiers fallen in battle, the leaves dropped dead
From the tree, its great military; its country; its home—
Something that was supposed to be so strong:
The tree that let the leaves go one by one.
‘A necessary sacrifice, ' the tree would say,
‘To bring about something so much happier when spring arrives again.'

‘But what about all those leaves, ' I say,
‘Who were abandoned when it got colder? '
Left to rot; their brown and orange corpses trampled upon,
Just because it suited you.
They didn't want to let go of their branch they knew so well,
But the wind took them, and they sunk to the floor

For they could hold on no longer
In the torrential weather of war.
Sad; alone; left behind; and destroyed—
Like soldiers, the leaves lie in rows on the floor;
Soldiers who could face the battle no more.