Your own legend is a leaf

Loosed and lilting a little

In frosted evening haze,

What little light there is

Limning each edge of air,

And tumbling now as you

Touch us here and there

Who cling to what remains

Of our declining seasons,

Knowing the way you take

Begins the end of your singing

And our knowing the old songs,

The stories passing into myth,

A scattering of scarlet ashes

Falling into drift and dream.