of trees shedding leaves

These days but rot like wild cherries
to mush upon cracked asphalt streets.
Done with their fruits, the trees let loose
to sleep, for the winter provides not.
If I could shake the leaves awake,
would I? My optimism spent and bright
green?
I eat the waste, its aged taste
says 'lets be done,
the night has come,' like a soft decay
and the wind beats my smile away.