On Aging Poem by W.I. Stoneberger

think upon the sweetgum tree
how its leaves begin
as small green sprouts
that slowly unfurl
shiny in Spring sun
wet in April rain
darkening through the season
deepening into Summer
clinging as August storms pass
then beginning to blush
on early Autumn afternoons
slow-burning into the best
of Octobers
blazing into the brightest
of Novembers
then they dance
letting go of all they've know
they take to the wind and twirl
igniting the air
sparks and ember escaping
a bonfire
they run down the streets
rustling head over heels
coming to rest against
the curbside the picket fence
crisping crunching crumbling
disappearing
dust to dust.