Curtain Call

Allow me at my end to be like these
Descending leaves that elegantly dance
Their final scene, expressing festive peace
As they take leave of life. Still colorful,
They ornament the sky as Fall’s sun slants
To warm their gold, release their sweet fragrance.
They’ve felt their feebling stems, and known the call
Of gravity’s exuberant release,
Accepting the approach of their decease
With bliss. They leave their limbs and calmly fall
In pirouettes; slow-dancing with the breeze,
They fill the air below their trees’ expanse,
Content with or without an audience
To witness this performance – this, their last –
By spring’s or summer’s beauty unsurpassed.
Allow me, at my end, to be like these.