Fall brings inspiration

As I watch random leaves flutter from tree branches to the ground, I'm reminded of Emily Bronte's Fall, Leaves, Fall. At the same time, inspiration arises out of the simplest things. Not about leaves falling from trees (have a few of those poems), but about the tide ebbing after a burst of connectivity. The tide will always ebb, leaves will always fall, but will they always return?

Found myself working on a mew poem on my two breaks during the day (shh, don't tell lol). Usually have the title right as I start or by poem's end. This one will take a minute to title. If not now, winter waits.

Has anyone else wondered, is loss inevitable, even for what returns?