Fallen Leaves

by Robert W. Service

Why should I be the first to fall Of all the leaves on this old tree? Though sadly soon I know that all Will lose their hold and follow me. While my birth-brothers bravely blow, Why should I be first to go? Why should I be the last to cling Of all the leaves on this bleak bough? I've fluttered since the fire of Spring And I am worn and withered now. I would escape the Winter gale And sleep soft-silvered by a snail. When swoop the legions of the snow To pitch their tents in roaring weather We fallen leaves will lie below And rot rejoicingly together; And from our rich and dark decay Will laugh our brothers of the May.