From Over the Hill: by Peter Bloch-Hansen To Falling Leaves
The leaves are leaving us now, Our summer-long green friends.
Some let go, go soaring out on a breeze, Others go slow, drifting down on still air. Their due watches in sunshine and sky now over, Decorations bright, They go in their branched battalions and companies To Final rest, in new soil. There are no railway platforms to stand on To wave or kiss them good bye; In back yards, people will burn them; In parks, their use over, Men from the city will come with rakes To sweep them away; On sidewalks they will seem like intruders And tramp nuisances. But we will step carefully, We, who in sun, and in rain, wind, and darkness Have felt the so, so slow seasons go speeding by; We who remember more deeply Are thankful.
Page 12 Boomers and Beyond – Elgin • November 2025
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