Stripped of its brilliance,
 
the once-crimson maple leaf
 
has turned brittle-brown.

 
 
 

Autumn’s final day—
 
the last liquidambar leaf
 
plummets to the ground.

 
 
 

Into a cold stream
 
one oak leaf drops at twilight—
 
autumn solitude.

 
 
 

How can I not dream,
 
after the last plum leaf falls,
 
of blossoms to come?

 
 
 

First of October—
 
every leaf is still clinging
 
to the ginkgo tree.

 
 
 

After Labor Day
 
a smudge of yellow appears
 
on one plum-tree leaf.

 
 
 

summer solitude—
 
watching the first dry plum leaf
 
falling from the tree

 
 
 

Summer afternoon—
 
one stray leaf on a park bench
 
delights a young child.

 
 
 

Midwinter morning—
 
the last stubborn oak leaf drops
 
into the dog’s dish.

 
 
 

The last plum leaf falls—
 
why would I trade this morning
 
for any other?