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The Dying
It’s getting to be time again when all
the leaves, their labors nearly done, prepare
their legacy. We see them everywhere
at work on this, the brilliant hues of fall
announcing the new terms of each leaf’s call.
And soon the trees will cast them off to spare
their limbs and branches winter’s wear and tear,
and leave the scattered leaves in cold death’s thrall.
And yet we love this dying. And we take
for granted the endowment it provides:
fresh fodder to enrich the soil, the earth.
For leaves give back what they consumed, and make
a better world. And so, as each leaf glides
in dying, it fulfills its holy worth.
And what of us, whom life must soon cast off?
What have we taken? And what will we leave
behind? Will generations long hence know
some good left at our dying? Do we scoff
at such a notion? Or do we believe
that our bequest can help a new leaf grow?
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T. M. Moore makes his home in Champlain Valley of Vermont.
Leaves in the long run are highly useful to the soil for things such as allowing more air to help water and nutrients get to the roots. They are a great admixture for compost piles. It takes a while (up to a year), as I understand it, for the microorganisms to break leaves down and provide the nitrogen component. You ask the perfect questions and often the legacies we leave come to fruition later on, as well.
I love the thought that “leaves give back what they consumed.” A lovely meditation on autumn, a season that I think is supposed to remind us of our imminent death, and that there can be something beautiful in it.
I love the cyclical aspect to this poem and that we all feed the leaves.
Did you think about using ‘sacred’ instead of ‘holy’. ‘Sacred’ tends to imply something holy and ancient, I feel.
I also like the idea of being leaf food rather than worm food.
Thanks for the read, TM.
This poem is a lovely fall meditation. I agree with Paul Freeman that “sacred” would be a better fit than “holy”, because the word holy pertains to God and the worship of God, as far as I understand.
One’s appreciation of leaves might depend on who must do the raking. My son-in-law asks his neighbor to dump the leaves collected on the lawn next door onto his own lawn, where he runs over them with his John Deere mower to enrich the lawn he maintains. Wherever they fall, leaves should never be wasted — they are a gift from heaven.
Using autumn’s leaves as a metaphor to question the deeds of the current generation and what it will leave behind for the ones yet to arrive is an outstanding concept to ponder upon! Thanks for the read, Mr. Moore.
All y’all:
Thanks for the reflections and comments. I find that thinking about a single leaf clarifies and enriches my own calling and role in this world. I hope these several poems communicate some sense of that and of my gratitude to God to be a leaf in the forest of His faithful ones, to know, love, and serve Him in all I do.