The Scholars of Autumn

How cunning are those leaves
Falling from the trees
Silently mocking thee
As they dance in the breeze

With whimsy, In jest
They flutter along
While we struggle to hear
Their beautiful song

Reflecting on their wisdom
As they fall and decay
And observing their bliss
While they're whisked away

Joyous are they
For they know without fail
That with next year's spring
They soon will prevail

A lesson from these scholars
Translated with pen
Is we all must die
To be born again