Poem 36: The Last Leaves Of Autumn

The Least Leaves of Autumn 

 

Watching the last leaves of autumn fall, 

That wonderful, bright orange colour, 

Lightly dropping off like a feather from inside a cushion, 

These trees remained skinny and tall, 

Now that they had made their final 'Goodbye', 

Falling to their temporary home, 

The floor, where people walk upon, 

Where little kids will pick them up, 

And take them home 

Give you a special place, 

Inside? Outside? 

Inside the stomach? 

Outside the house? 

It remains as small as a mouse, 

As it decays, 

Ever so slowly, 

And once they see it in its final condition, 

The child shouts, 'Holy Moly!' 

 
 

Towns would be doing their shopping, 

Cities would be covered in snow, 

"Buy Now!" It would say on windows, 

Everybody would know. 

A lot more than they did, earlier in the year, 

Because later in the year, 

Later in the year, 

They would shed a tear, 

Of joy, of excitement. 

It has turned from Halloween to Christmas, 

And the child would be having a snowball fight, 

With their friends, 

In the snow, all fresh and bright, 

Mid-day, on the weekend, 

Their mothers join in, 

It would be more of a war than a fight, 

Snow was everywhere you could see, 

And what they had forgotten, was the decaying leaf. 

 

Ah, Christmas. One of the best parts of the year.