Managed a poem.

Autumn leaves

The autumn leaves, shrivelled and brown
drift with the wind along the path.
Where are they going? They travel to oblivion
their job is done. Nature has discarded them
for Nature does not care. Next spring
will see new greenery, the sap will rise.
The cycle will start over, once again.

Took the pic whilst waiting for the coach after trolling around the Eusebius Friday Market. I thought the picture might be useful, now it has stirred up my mind for a silent soliloquy.