The leaves don’t let go
that easily either. It takes a bluster,
a filabuster of north wind,
and the wasp-sting of the first
chill of late September
to tear them off the page
of summer.
Persuasion doesn’t do it.
Sometimes in the middle of winter,
(the DEAD of winter, as they say)
you might see one shriveled
oakleaf, dangling from a frozen
filament of stem,
defiant, victorious.
Nothing likes to end;
the October wind invites
the leaf to tango in the frosty air.
A shy curtsey, a twirling turn,
a pirouette, then the dance
is over and only the bare
fingers of the tree remain.
Beautiful piece of poetry. My favourite bit is the second stanza which brings about the image of a lone soldier staggering across a body-clogged field, still ready for a fight. After I read it, I looked out my window and spotted one single poplar leaf holding on to the branch for dear life. A flickering soldier bent on springtime. Am thoroughly enjoying your work and will continue on with reading it...
what an interesting view of nature, who ever wants to let go a good read well worth a 10
i like any poem that is about leafs. this is a good one. and i like that line 'LEAVES DON'T LET GO THAT EASILY EITHER.
Superb imagery. Leaves lend themselves to poetry.Thanks for sharing your art. As always, Sandra
This one makes me feel cold. Can't wait for spring. Its fall here now. Bob
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
another hit a spot. Thankyou.