A tender leaf that has been plucked from branches up above,
seeks purchase in the howling wind which knows only how to shove,
down and down it flutters, flailing to prevent its fall,
rustling endlessly to alert the trees like sentinals standing tall.
But one small leaf canot be heard above so many sounds,
chirping birds and munching beasts feast on its cries afore it hits the ground,
finally with a mighty crack it hits its knarly grave,
lying on a bed of desolution with other dying braves.
One final time it gazes up to stare at its former abode,
all of its life its stuck to friends but has ended up alone,
the Sun which once was channelled through and nurchered in its veins,
now burns the very flesh that held the strength to make it tame.
So when my friend you take a stroll upon an Autumn's day,
among the naked trees with branches bereft and bare,
perhaps you'll spare a lonesome thought for the corpses at your feet,
those oh so woeful leaves whom fate did not so kindly treat.
Email this story 
Print Story 
Add to reading list
