The white birch in the garden is entering its autumnal colours

Green into red into brown a process whose certainty mothers

My gloomy thoughts on ageing and bodily deterioration,

A conventional metaphor which does no justice to the efloration

Of high autumn nor to the trees’ wise preparation for the cold.

Leaves are good for drawing food from roots and for the bold

Pageantry of chlorophyll but when the air and soil are frozen

They use more energy than they are worth, green motion

Ceases, and reds and browns get a brief exposure. The base

Of each leaf then grows a cutting tool which separates

The leaf and seals the twig for winter. Any residual nourishment

From leaves is withdrawn into the tree’s body. All this is meant

For survival and renewed life in Spring.

                                                                     Human ageing is different.

My failing eyesight, frequent urination, imperfect balance, slow

Typing speed, have no future advantage but only a big hello

To incapacity and death. I have seen people dear to me face

These courageously: I hope I can do it with as good a grace.