Leaves

Who’s killed the leaves?

Me, says the apple, I’ve killed them all.

Fat as a bomb or a cannonball

I’ve killed the leaves.

Who sees them drop?

Me, says the pear, they will leave me all bare

So all the people can point and stare.

I see them drop.

Who’ll catch their blood?

Me, me, me, says the marrow, the marrow.

I’ll get so rotund that they’ll need a wheelbarrow.

I’ll catch their blood.

Who’ll make their shroud?

Me, says the swallow, there’s just time enough

Before I must pack all my spools and be off.

I’ll make their shroud.

Who’ll dig their grave?

Me, says the river, with the power of the clouds

A brown deep grave I’ll dig under my floods.

I’ll dig their grave.

Who’ll be their parson?

Me, says the Crow, for it is well-known

I study the bible right down to the bone.

I’ll be their parson.

Who’ll be chief mourner?

Me, says the wind, I will cry through the grass

The people will pale and go cold when I pass.

I’ll be chief mourner.

Who’ll carry the coffin?

Me, says the sunset, the whole world will weep

To see me lower it into the deep.

I’ll carry the coffin.

Who’ll sing a psalm?

Me, says the tractor, with mu gear grinding glottle

I’ll plough Up the stubble and sing through my throttle.

I’ll sing the psalm.

Who’ll toll the bell?

Me, says the robin, my song in October

Will tell the still gardens the leaves are over.

I’ll toll the bell.