Flaming crimson leaves,
 
how quickly your brilliance fades
 
into shades of brown!

 
 

How disconcerting
 
to see the sugar maple
 
strip itself of leaves!

 
 
 

Looking at no one,
 
a woman walks through the park
 
picking up red leaves.

 
 

From my lettuce patch
 
I pick leaves for a salad
 
while a goldfinch sings.

 
 

As the drought deepens,
 
leaves rain down from my plum tree,
 
littering the ground.

 
 
 

First strong wind of spring—
 
all the cherry leaves flutter
 
as if in distress.

 
 
 

Pilgrim, when new leaves
 
appear on the ginkgo tree,
 
set out with your staff.

 
 
 

Buried under snow,
 
bright red leaves hold their color,
 
unseen and unsung.

On the year’s first day

the last leaves fall from the oak,

obscuring my path.

 
 
 

On a gusty day
 
the last leaves quake and tremble
 
high up in the oak.