Every day
At a 3
I would walk home
Taking the same path
In fall I would admire
The trees and colors
One evening I saw a tree
With one little leaf
It was bright red
Standing out against
The dark bark
Every day I would look
It still hung on
On night
There was a storm
Swirling
Pounding
Whooshing
Around the little leaf
But it still hung on
It started to crinkle
And fold up against itself
The first snow came
It turned brown
Sagged with the wait
Of the snow
You could tell
It was longing to fall
And be with it's friends
On December 28th
The little leaf
Hung on no more
Posted in response to the challenge Autumn '24: Writing.
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