THE LAST YELLOW LEAF


The last yellow leaf
Clings to the blushing tree
Flush with its nascent red leaves,
Tiny, shining fresh and smiling proudly
At the wondrous eyes
Enchanted by the warm aura of Spring.
Thin lips snigger
At the ugly duckling-
The solitary yellow leaf.
They are cruel-
The taunts, the jibes because
The last yellow leaf
Reminds them of the merciless winter
Still messing around.








It trembles,
Terror struck by the afternoon thunder,
Shivers against the savage north-east wind
That threatens to sweep away
The last remaining traces of life
From the last yellow leaf.
A few days, a few hours
Or just a few minutes more?
It wonders about
The not so distant future.
It flutters precariously,
Hangs by a frail thread of hope,
Preserving the last few breaths
Before The Mighty Fall
To its inescapable destiny.

Yet it knows,
To fall
Is not to die.
To fall
Is to accept
The nemesis.
To fall
Is to bounce back.
Bold and strong.
It will return some day,
To perhaps another blushing tree,
Tiny and red, but exulting proudly
To bring joy to another wondrous eye.



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