The Last Leaf

waits to fall,

waits to snare

her eyes, to carve

the air into bright


It hesitates

in the young wind ...

then suddenly, wonderfully


into the evening of the year.

The tree's last leaf

is blown to her

in the softening hour.

Nothing ends.

The leaf's last light

now plays on her face

with checkered hands that

tumble and turn,

that curve to float

in the filtered sun

from gold to amber, from soon into


She's looking upwards,


Among the maples -

not a sound.

The sky is cold.

The branches need each other here.

She closes her eyes

in wordless prayer;

and above the silence flinches sing.

The heart wounds mend.

The falling leaf

completes its quest....

Now down autumn of her hair

the shadows blend,

the years finds rest.

We want to hear, did we miss an angle we should have covered? Should we come back to this topic? Or just give us a rating for this story. We want to hear from you.




Save for later


Saved ( of items)

This item has been saved to read later from any device.
Access saved items through your user name at the top of the page.

View Saved Items


Failed to save

You reached the limit of 20 saved items.
Please visit following link to manage you saved items.

View Saved Items


Failed to save

You have already saved this item.

View Saved Items