Don't envy me

Are you surprised, dear friend?
To find me standing still,
When all but the last leaf has fallen,
To be blown away over yonder hill.

He should be gone by now, you think,
Washed away by the drying rain,
Into rivulets of virgin streams,
Soaked dry amidst the rolling plain.

Ah! But don't envy me, my kindred friend,
As I flirt with the truant winter squall,
Allow a withering birch another arrogant ring,
Witness to times stolen from a bygone fall.

From orient lands where you now dwell,
Rises the sun which on me once shone,
'Tis now only a relentless foe,
Spring madness I must bear alone.

O friend of my youthful past,
Soon must be the dictates of age obeyed,
'N though my ashes be lost in summer dust,
Memories, brimming with nigh magical shade.