Why should I be the first to fall Of all the leaves on this old tree? Though sadly soon I know that all Will lose their hold and follow me. While my birth-brothers bravely blow, Why should I be first to go? Why should I be the last to cling Of all the leaves on this bleak bough? I've fluttered since the fire of Spring And I am worn and withered now. I would escape the Winter gale And sleep soft-silvered by a snail. When swoop the legions of the snow To pitch their tents in roaring weather We fallen leaves will lie below And rot rejoicingly together; And from our rich and dark decay Will laugh our brothers of the May.
Robert Service (1874-1958) came to Canada from Britain as a young man. He worked as a bank clerk in the Yukon and wrote many poems and stories about the Canadian North. We read his famous poem, "The Cremation of Sam McGee" in public school. These pictures were taken in the past week.