Photo by D.H.Allen
THE LAST LEAF
By David Allen
I am the last leaf,
the last on the bough.
Brown and brittle,
I’ve taken a vow
to mourn for my more
colorful friends
who took the plunge
to drift to the ground.
I saw them settle
into piles on the lawn,
where they were raked or rotted,
no matter, they’re gone.
And as the days drift by,
I keep watch on a few
other lonely leaves,
wondering who
will be the last to fall.
Type Dancing 