The Last Leaf
By Ken Fortie
Hot summer days of jumping through the sprinklers, they have flown.
The brilliant hues of autumn gone to mystic lands unknown.
Too soon the painted hillsides fade as leaves are whisked away.
What’s left are twisted branches that in storms speak only gray.
Old leaves, now pale, have lost their glow, piled high in shades of brown.
And used to soften landings when at last kids must come down.
But low, what’s this, up in the tree one leaf that still holds fast.
Its will to stay through winters chill and storm is unsurpassed.
The winter watch, a daunting task, this rugged leaf does keep.
It stays the course till spring doth rouse new buds from winters sleep.
As each new bloom bursts from its shell and moves towards the light,
The old leaf knows his time has come and readies for his flight.
He gives direction for the young and teaches them of fall,
But few give heed or care to hear his withered voice at all.
He turns away and with a smile he bids them all adieu,
They’ll have to make their own way now and work their troubles through.
The warmth of spring gives great delight to each new forming bloom.
They talk of all that lies ahead without a thought of gloom.
From whence does come the final wind that gives the branch its sway,
To tell that leaf, "release your grasp, you'd best be on your way."
His parting goes unnoticed, a mere shadow from the past,
No thought of wisdom's absence as he slips away at last.
What did that old leaf have to say, what stories could he tell,
We’ll never know, we had no care, when with us he did dwell.
By Ken Fortie
Hot summer days of jumping through the sprinklers, they have flown.
The brilliant hues of autumn gone to mystic lands unknown.
Too soon the painted hillsides fade as leaves are whisked away.
What’s left are twisted branches that in storms speak only gray.
Old leaves, now pale, have lost their glow, piled high in shades of brown.
And used to soften landings when at last kids must come down.
But low, what’s this, up in the tree one leaf that still holds fast.
Its will to stay through winters chill and storm is unsurpassed.
The winter watch, a daunting task, this rugged leaf does keep.
It stays the course till spring doth rouse new buds from winters sleep.
As each new bloom bursts from its shell and moves towards the light,
The old leaf knows his time has come and readies for his flight.
He gives direction for the young and teaches them of fall,
But few give heed or care to hear his withered voice at all.
He turns away and with a smile he bids them all adieu,
They’ll have to make their own way now and work their troubles through.
The warmth of spring gives great delight to each new forming bloom.
They talk of all that lies ahead without a thought of gloom.
From whence does come the final wind that gives the branch its sway,
To tell that leaf, "release your grasp, you'd best be on your way."
His parting goes unnoticed, a mere shadow from the past,
No thought of wisdom's absence as he slips away at last.
What did that old leaf have to say, what stories could he tell,
We’ll never know, we had no care, when with us he did dwell.
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