I lie on a mattress of fallen leaves, dried, brown, having lost former beauty, yet now they comfort one such as me, a mere spectator of their dance through the air, red, yellow, and orange, twirling and flipping in a ballet of color, directed by the autumn breeze Cool winds stroke my cheek like a mother to her child singing me a lullaby of rustling leaves, lulling me to sleep, my eyes start to droop Relaxation seeps in every cooling breeze spreading a blanket of orange and yellow over me As I sleep the dancers continue their autumn ballet yet one by one they too rest, but only as long as the wind allows