The Blades of Fall

The Blades of Fall

The grass is burnt and brown,

As Summer turns to Fall,

Its weary blades retreat,

From Winter's chilling call.

Yet once not long ago,

The blades stood tall and green,

Their simple elegance,

No longer can be seen.

Before they were alive,

But now seem dry and still,

As if the breath of Fall,

Had carried off their will.

In Summer's warming rays,

They braved each might force,

But now act quite content,

With nature's solemn course.

I wonder, could they live,

If only they would try,

For it is such a shame,

To give up, quit, and die. 

Perhaps its only me,

Unwilling to let go,

Or seeing now a path,

That I am sure to know.