Dying Leaves
I observe the only leaf descend
from the bare maple tree winging low,
drifting and freely curling amidst
the nipped air to quiver on the damp alley.
It joins about a larger heap--
all leaves rustling together in place;
that watching their frail body- movement,
a line of tear flows down on my cheeks.
Strewn about by the restless blow
of the wind, they tremble up and down
as if to linger in a final circle of a waltz:
How far the springtime while gust
of flakes trail without pause...
It is already late January, yet
icy breeze grows more harsh more cruel
with the ruin of threadbare leaves,
laying like a hearse dumped by thick mantle
of frost...grasping for a tinge of ray
which could somehow bring or stir back
any sign of resuscitated glow... instead,
this foliage bleeds a final glory
mirroring my numb love that dies with them
to vanish into the night... ashen-black
while I shed another tear and another.
Best Free Verse This Year
Contest of John Hamilton entered 3/21/2017
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