Death Beneath My Feet

The dead brown maple leaves litter the path Where I walk. Others of its kind dropping From their lofty homes, victims of the wrath Of autumns chilling gales, unrelenting And tellingly- stark reminder of death- Companion through life all of us must face. I tread over brittle corpses beneath My feet in their final resting place And I am reminded of my sister Poor soul! Who died one chilly October. I remember the maple leaves that stirred Around my feet that day she was interred. Lifeless entities swirling, hurling down Atop her casket deep beneath the ground.