A leaf, bright crimson, doing all he could muster,
To cling to the tree, from which he had sprung.
He looked to the gray sky, now unsure of his setting,
Longing for the comforting blue that made him soar
Like the hawk that landed close by.
He shuddered in the cold rain which soaked him,
Making him heavy, and testing his resolve.
Just yesterday and throughout his life,
He danced lightly in sunshine, and,
He laughed contentedly in the warmth in which he lived.
Now the wind pushed him to the brink of death,
As if watching his friends and family perish wasn’t bad enough.
He found it confusing and he grew weary,
His grip now but a few tiny fingers on a branch that betrayed him,
As had the world which he knew.
He prayed for a break in the clouds and a respite from the wind,
But his hope of hanging on lessoned with each fading breath…