High above the ground I perch
a once green leafy thing hanging by a string,
Now, I’m orange, brown and old
and waiting for the other leaf to drop.
A rapid fall in fall is all I have left.
Why am I hanging in the lurch?
Why wasn’t I created as some other thing?
The winds grow strong and bitter cold,
I pray to God that it will stop!
And yet soon, this branch will be bereft
of me! From here my senses search
but the steel blue clouds are threatening.
They say winter approaches, but I’m not sold,
until suddenly I hear a “pop”!
I begin my descent and slowly I drift!
© Walter J. Wojtanik – 2016