O, brazen leaves, boldly rustling in the north breeze.

Will not quite give it up!
Life ebbing; dry, wrinkled, lifeless looking.
Yet the will to be remains.

O, brazen leaves, resisting the autumnal prerogative.

Hanging on! Resisting the forces of time,
Somehow hoping time will stop; a moment frozen
to keep forever, like summer in the Arctic climes.

O, brazen leaves, dried and brown.

Knowing deep down that as the other leaves have died
and fallen to the ground,
so will the rest that still hang on.

O, brazen leaves, that know not time nor temerity.

Heavenly hope having high expectations,
half-dead; yet noisy, cajoling, like a good group of friends.
Pushing one to ponder this visible proof of rebirth, of resurrection.

O, brazen leaves, boldly rustling.