All of the things of fall

are as beautiful in their dying

as they were in their birth,

as if it were a farewell party,

a last hurrah, a riotous wake.

May I also be beautiful

in my surrender, fading

from green to brilliant

orange or red, and may

the moment of my letting go

be as precious as the leaf 

that falls, unnoticed, 

to the ground

that catches it.   

Still, there always remains

those few leaves that cling

and hold on, withered brown

in their stubbornness. Refusing 

to fall, they face the stark white winter 

alone while, below, the others return 

to that from which they came; 

returning, as it were, to home. 

Photo Source.