Leaving

You didn't really say goodbye to me, As you, waving your hands and half-pouting, Barely even glanced at me, then left. At the time, who knew these moments were numbered? I swear I saw your complexion turn to a rustic sunset, As fall dawned on me, and realized that your winter is nearing, One did not know that you were a leaf, Nor did one expect that you would be leaving so soon. Leaving is what leaves do, and I now dread seeing you any more than I have to, All I can hope for is your goodbye; The fates are unkind if that is all there is for one to hope. They say leaves fall before it gets cold. Nay, it will grow colder upon your leaving, I still dream that you magically turn into a branch, or bark, or root, Or that at least, I too would be a leaf, and fall with you Unto this earth, as it prepares to dream its better dreams.