Last Leaf

The last leaf of a dying tree,
Falls gently to the ground,
With no one there to see,
Or to hear its fragile sound.

The sun has gone dark,
And the ground, it crumbles,
The wind became a stark
Echo, and mutters not a mumble.

The glowering citadels of humanity,
Now empty shells of forgotten life,
The ethos of their vanity,
The remembrance of their strife.

All that was green has vanished,
Seemingly lost, evermore,
So somber it was, they perished,
Never to be what came before.

The last leaf of a dying tree,
A catalyst for birth,
To see that which is green,
Restore a living earth.