Falling Leaves

"Are you evergreen or deciduous?"
the old man asked the scribe.
"Do your needles point up to the heavens,
or your leaves on winds ride?
Are you faithful in the summer sunshine
but fickle in winter's glare?
Or do you proudly wave green arms on high
when the world is cold and bare?
It matters but a little in the spring
if your buds are fresh and full;
much better you stay strong under snowfall,
alive despite death's pull."
He gently tapped his wrinkled forehead
and sadly winked his eye.
"Perhaps you think I'm foolish for these words--
no, pause before you deny--
but I've seen a few more seasons here below,
made sense of what is true:
In lonely or laughter, plenty or pain,
the one factor still is you."
I made as if to hazard a reply
but the old man shook his head.
"Don't speak, just think and wait a little while--
there're darker days ahead."
And with that he passed on from my sight
to what I could not tell.
I turned my collar up in the evening breeze
and watched as autumn fell.