Countless leaves under my feet
Mere months ago up so high
Boots maintain a steady beat.
Another. Another. Falls from the sky.
The narrow path – red and golden
Time, once again, claims its victims
Days shorter, and now, much colder
Crunch. Crunch. All to be done is listen.
The cold autumn wind blowing my hair
Tickling ears, forcing my head to the side.
Stop moving. Stealing the moment to stare…
Seeing the beauty in those that have died.
© S. Reed