The Falling of the Leaves                                

Autumn is over the long leaves that love us
And over the mice in the barley sheaves;
Yellow the leaves of the rowan above us,
And yellow the wet wild-strawberry leaves.

The hour of the waning of love has beset us,
And weary and worn are our sad souls now;
Let us part, ere the season of passion forget us,
With a kiss and a tear on thy drooping brow.           
                                                                        -- WB Yeats
                                                                                                      what I think about this poem