Glory Falls

The oak stood proud and tall,

Until its leaves began to fall.

When Autumn comes, she gives them gold

And with the colors they then are sold.

But now, as their glory drops, they feel

Pangs of regret. They turn and reel

And thrust the gold at Autumn's breast.

But only leaves do fall and rest

Upon the house, the porch, the ground,

In piles of gleaming, glowing mounds.

The oak's gold crown falls

down

down

down.

~ H.H.

2011