A Lonely Leaf
A
Andrew Blakemore
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The tree does bend as winds do blow
A chill December air,
And yet a lonely leaf remains
Upon the dormant bough,
It's withered dry yet still it clings
By thread that's growing frail,
That soon will break it cannot last
Its end is nearing now.
For there it hangs so limply yet
Keeps moving back and forth,
And sympathy does fill my heart
It could be me that's there,
When in the autumn of my life
My best days all behind,
With nothing to look forward to
Its loneliness I share.
I rest against the mighty trunk
And look towards the sky,
Through dark and twisted talons
Which cast shadows on the land,
Yet still the lonely leaf remains
And bravely lingers on,
Yet I shall wait for it to fall
To catch it in my hand.
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