A LONESOME AUTUMN DAY:
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 sentinels standing tall.
Alas, one small leaf can not be heard above so many sounds,
Chirping birds feast on its anguished cries before it hits the ground,
Finally with a mighty crack it hits its gnarly grave,
Lying on a bed of desolation with so many dying braves.
One final time it gazes up to stare at its former abode,
All of its life it has stuck to friends but has ended up alone,
The sun which once was channelled through and nurtured in its veins,
Now burns the very flesh that once held the strength to make it tame.
So when my friend you take a stroll upon a lonesome autumn day,
Among those naked trees, with their branches bereft and bare,
Perhaps you will spare a single thought for the corpses at your feet,
Those oh so woeful leaves whom fate did not so kindly treat.
