The Leaf

The frosty morn was sullen... My breath lay frigid to the air. I walked a darkened wintry trail To enhance this stark affair. I sat upon a wooded bench To give aid to my relief... Beneath a tree... in winter's grip That bore a single leaf. How brave to mock the nature Of a flagitious winter at its height. This tree was made of sterner stuff... I was enthralled by such a sight. This majestic oak would not submit... It would not lay stripped and bare And despite a wintry ill-intent... It gleaned the morning air. Each day I'd pass that gallant tree With its cherished leaf to see. If it could last through winter's wrath... There yet was hope for me. But winter shan't be trifled with And the oak would bear the cost. When another day... I walked that way... The treasured leaf was lost. I sat again... the wooded bench As cold whipped me to the bone. The leaf had died a martyr's death... Now I was all alone. The End