Seasons Swept Aside

The first leaves have fallen on my dusty careworn drive;
a forlorn foliage graveyard of deciduous death.
Indubitably forsaken from arduous ceaseless use
but not pity peppered in it's plight.
It instead houses those haggard hirelings of the harvest Moon—
like the branches across who had embraced those leaves
and sheltered my drying drive from the ascendant summer Sun-
a favour reciprocated through their ceaseless tacit pact.

I've watched the seasons stake their claim
on that stoic horse-chestnut across the road,
but none could conquer nor truly compliment its colour.
And sweeping the first leaves from my dusty careworn drive,
I discern how drastic the difference appears from mere months ago,
but I can admire how subtly small the seasons shifts really really are
when observed at a distance.
Colour will rekindle.