Autumn Leaves

It came to pass, not to stay.

Yellows and golds light the branches,
red paints the maple leaves,
and the air holds a scent 
of something ending.

Even the sun grows darker,
casting long shadows
over fields that have already forgotten
their harvest.

A softness lingers,
a kind of tenderness,
and you feel it
in your own soft parts
as if the world
is holding your face
for the last time.