The leaves are turning colour once again it seems.
Another season opening my heart to foolish dreams.
But are hearts ever foolish that beat to quiet dreams?
For Autumn isn’t always, and life not as it seems.
The leaves of course will fall from every changing tree,
As branches bare and brown hold out their length to me.
But branches rest when leafless; and when winter storms are past,
The soft green shoots will tremble as life returns at last.
So hope, my foolish heart for springtime’s tender green,
Even when the leaves are red or barest branches seen.