Metaphorical

The leaves are turning, and in season changing, 
Those vibrant hues they wear are burning out; 
And in their passing have lit up the world 
With passionate display, in colors brighter, 
In vivid show of reds, oranges, and yellows, 
Before they are to fade, fall, and decay, 
And line the forest floor as those discarded. 
And as they fall, so they become the lost, 
And gather at our feet in lifeless heaps; 
And in signal all around announce the end. 
Yes, death inevitable rears its head, 
As we stand face to face with winter's grip, 
And mourn that that which is purest will die.

The Fallen Leaves