Angela Johnston Poet I do not know?

The Last Leaf

The last leaf
And there it is....the last leaf
Stubborn, brave
Holding tight to that branch
Refusing to be the last memory.
It’s colours are fading
Becoming brown and gray and black
Tattered and torn
By the determined breeze
By cold rain and crispy frost.
All the other leaves are on the ground
Said their goodbyes to the tree
Carpeting the pavement, grass
And ground under the paling sun.
But not our little leaf,
Refusing to become
The last memory of summer past.
But the gale is stronger
With a big blow sends our little leaf
On the ground, in the mud
Soggy, forgotten
Tattered, torn,
brave little leaf.
(13/10/2013)

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Edward Ebbs September 2, 2014 at 10:40 PM I like it...to me you are writing about nature and the last left before the carpet of snow erasing the past season getting ready for the nativity of Spring :) Angela Johnston September 3, 2014 at 2:34 AM Exactly Ed, thank you :)

Angela Johnston September 2, 2014 at 4:58 PM I 'm sorry guys, I must disapoint you, death was the last thing in my mind when I wrote this poem. I was contemplating on a lonely leaf still hanging on stubbornly on a branch while was having walk. As for the need to vent part, try kneading bread by your hands, very therapeutic, and at the end of the day you will have lovely loaf of bread. No offence, thank you for the nice words, and warm welcome. :) I'll check out your poems, thank you for the invitation :)

Daver Austin September 2, 2014 at 4:38 PM What the lyric man said. This much as a child would think about death. Don't get me wrong - children are wonderfully sensitive people. Good stuff. daver