The leaves, alas, are quickly vanishing as the wind and the rain do their work. Yet, a few survivors remain. Here, on that subject, are two poems by Andrew Young.
Sometimes an autumn leaf
That falls upon the ground,
Gives the heart a wound
And wakes an ancient grief.
But I weep not that all
The leaves of autumn die,
I only weep that I
Should live to see them fall.
"Punting on the Flood" (1891)
The Last Leaf
I saw how rows of white raindrops
From bare boughs shone,
And how the storm had stript the leaves
Save one left high on a top twig
Then that too bursting into song
Fled and was gone.
Andrew Young, Collected Poems (1960).
"The Ouse, Bedford from Newenham" (1886)