The Last To Fall Poem by john (called jack) wren

A leaf reflects as it descends
from the topmost twig of a tree
of happy moments it has spent
when it was fancy free.

like dancing on a twig as blackbird
sang its bewitching song
or laughing with glee when a proud
thrush brought its young along.

Or watching red squirrel leaping
boldly from branch to branch
proudly displaying its bushy tail
curled like a red avalanche.

Keeping an eye on a crafty old fox
as it tip toed up the trail
accompanied by diving crows
sweeping down to no avail.

Hearing the cry from a weary cow
as its calf struggles to be born
carried with sympathy by the wind
in the still of a dewy morn.

Or listening when the corn sways
with the mystical sound of a flute
and feeling the kiss from a dewdrop
as it passed on its daily commute.

The frantic cry from gulls are carried
on a lazy symphonic breeze as they
harass a weary ploughman's horse
as it halts for a cough and a sneeze.

Lastly, on its downward course
it glimpses the graceful sight
of daises opening to the sun
and weeping tears for your plight.

This last living witness
floats towards its new bed
and the cosy new pillow
waiting for its head.