autumn leaves

Like a flower turned to spring
Early, and the autumn leaves arose
To ashes and nothing orange.
Perhaps it may never be
The children walking stepping
on the crispy leaves,
and they are no more but
a memory of sound of
a lovely walk in the park.
They cannot hate the spring
nor the flower that worshipped
the Sun and its glorious glow.
Not because of the tide of time
But because they are no more.