Winter has been here at least a fortnight or two.
Most tress stand a hollow shell of their summer beauty.
Like a phoenix they brown and burn in the autumn,
Only to return their glory from the ashen, bare branches
Once the spring begins to awaken the world once again.
Yet one leaf remains.
All alone in her Amber beauty,
the kind man has longed for since Eden.
Having braved the winds and frost filled nights of these darkened times.
Why does she cling?
It cannot be luck, I won't allow it!
countless attempts have been made on her life,
yet she endures. For what ?
To stand alone and see her friends
slaughtered in a man made hurricane,
or enjoy the giggles of children building their mountains to jump.
The last leaf holds beauty and strength but enjoys it alone.
To stand in the face of the gale is lonely and cold,
and I wish I could ask her about it
But perhaps she's just a leaf,
and I should resume my glare at the floor.
