The Autumn Leaf
The autumn leaf curls within tree tops.
Fresh off the frost-lined arm of oak,
vibrant as the sweetest of tangerines.
It passes its crinkly brethren,
trekking through those yet to venture to roots,
gliding by ghosts of the already travelled.
Branches glare with eagle-eyes,
gnarled limbs twisting,
plotting to capture the leaf
with wooden talons and bramble nets.
The vengeful wind,
jaws at the ready,
wishes to shred the traveller in two
with crooked wrenches in all directions.
But the leaf dances around the branches,
and tucks its corners away from the breeze.
It whistles along with a playful tune.
Forever elusive.
Forever free.
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