The Afterlife of Leaves

The parade of endless colors is over, all the leaves are dead or dying scurrying about like frantic crabs back and forth across an icy-icy land clinging along the fence line of time swirling around cul-de-sac and doorways like gothic teens with little reason to shine ...but unchained from their master's paradise unchained from the dance of emerald lies. Soon these bronzed -arthritic children will wrinkle into oblivion.