Spirits On The Wind

When Autumn's early chill turns leaves to brown,
And all things green retreat to wait the Spring,
Then wistful voices on the wind swirl round
The treetops, making barren branches sing.
Who are these spirits that ride on the breeze?
The ghosts of ages past that linger on
In old familiar haunts, though no one sees
Them wandering there. They play upon
Old memories to bring them back to mind
Like some faint melody but half-recalled,
Unable to make contact with our kind,
Except perhaps,when dreams leave hearts unwalled.
Their voices call to any that would hear
To cherish life in the dying of the year.