Fall, leaves, fall

Fall, leaves, fall; die, flowers, away;
Lengthen night and shorten day;
Every leaf speaks bliss to me
Fluttering from the autumn tree.
I shall smile when wreaths of snow
Blossom where the rose should grow;
I shall sing when night’s decay
Ushers in a drearier day.
BY EMILY BRONTË

I found the remains of this leaf at the bottom of the garden. Its lamina all but gone leaving an intricate network of veins. It seemed such a delicate structure compared to the bulk of tanned oak leaves that clogged up the rest of the garden.