The Leaves

The leaves of autumn
last till spring,
till summer, even.
Between young flowers,
they lie:
old flames chilled
by the change of seasons.
Had I an alien eye,
I might believe
that leaves
as decayed as these
were signs of spring
and pick them,
one by one,
to warm my home
with their fiery hues
and wonder why
they never die
but simply fade