A Leaf's Last Rites

Winter at last! Blessed relief
Autumn’s heat stifling, many a day
Blazing sun descends upon red/gold leaf
Now, o’ernight blue skies change to mourning gray

In the wink of the hawk’s eye
He’ll soar chilled skies until Spring
Then float on updrafts that come with July
But for now the leaves fall, it’s a marvelous thing

A lumbering tallish tree that stands nearby
Begins to quickly shed its coat
As I watch behind glass with an appreciative eye
Pirouetting drops of life shouldn’t make a grown man gloat

And the leaves fell en masse, a most profound effusion
Oh! the limbs, in the fierce winds did so quiver and so shake
The whole scene was one of a flurry of winter’s confusion
With the defiant tree withstanding forces much akin to an earthquake

Inside the house where I’d lived for so ever long
The death raining outside the walls sounded much like song
Pitter patter, spitter spatter, soon the deluge of rains came
Clitter clatter, what’s the matter? Death is merely an old game

Limb’s children, with sap filled veins, fell in torrents
Their bodies spread across the frigid, frosty lawn
I might suppose that this depiction may sound rather abhorrent
Yet, for months I pined for winter and the day the leaves were gone

Then one day I stepped outside to survey my leafless tree
The fog of my breath brought on a euphoric exhilaration
When I heard a tiny voice that was calling out to me
And it came from the tree! What was the explanation?

Way up high, near the top, was a lone and chilled survivor
Its skin was yellowed, its body shriveled, and its “family” all were dead
Then with Lilliputian sounds it proceeded with a reminder
And I stood there, numb and listening, to every word it said

“I’m the last of my kind on this the passing year
The struggle to survive immense and I grow weak I fear
If I should fall and you should see please gather my remains
Leave me not to gutter rot or to drown in pouring rain

And as he spoke he lost his grasp and silently fell down
I caught him in my trembling hands before he hit the ground
When self-pity comes calling and I’m consumed with grief
I open up a treasured box and touch a withered leaf