the tree and the leaves

Preface.
The end was contained in the beginning. (Orwell, 1984)

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"Autumn" - whispered the leaves loudly outside
Blushing with tawny colors they dared to have a fight
For life,
but the parenting tree would openly reveal:
"Nothing escapes turnaround, but your death is Beauty, indeed!"

The leaves tapped softly the glass accompanying choirs of winds,
Waiting for their last dance unwilling to stay unseen
They bled magnesium out back into the stem,
Gulping  down the sun to burn themselves in the end.

Lovingly hugged passers-by, listened to them in hope,
but all they would hear was crackling  death under careless soles,
But that wasn't scary, moreover they saw in reflections of eyes
That death can be bitten by stunning beauty in pieces of arts.

The tree without a sigh of mourning or sadness observed them to final exhale
Covering ground around with rustling farewell.
Declared:
"It's time to commemorate winter with bronze fireworks".
Wasn't a secret in spring - its leaves had been fated by birth.
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08/2017