Leaves and Lives

Do you think a leaf forgets the life it held in the gleam of a summer’s day?
Does our flesh forget the warmth of light when everything turns grey?
Now crushed beneath the steps of travelers coming here to say—
”Whose name is written on this tomb, left here to wither and decay?” 
Leaves and tears fall all the same, once autumn comes to stay. 
When names, like brittle leaves, become mere whispers in life’s fray, 
Leaves and lives will soon be one when both at last moulder away.