Analysis of Fallen Leaves

Bright, with a sharp edge
the sunlight filtered through my window.
Specks of dust danced to a silent tune,
in and out of bright shards of light.
Outside, a blackbird's song
wafts on the wind, greeting this
new morning. The wind rustles the
russet leaves, as they live their
last autumn days, some fall spiralling,
as in a free-fall polka, others gently
glided, to join old friends shuffled
where the wind would take them.
Far down the street, a man dressed in
well worn coveralls, rake in hand,
piles the golden, crimson and brown
into small piles, which are quickly alite.
Some of the braver leaves make a last
frenetic jig, not knowing that their fate
is as sure as their burning counterparts.
Rebirth is assured, from their ashes.