THE DEATH OF A LEAF

From the height

Of a tall oak tree, it flew

In circles, spirals, eddies

On its final journey

To death.

A life not lived,

A being not to be

Dry, withered

Before its time

It fell.

It made no sound

No impact on touch

At journey’s end

It lay waiting for

The tread of a shoe

The cry, a crunch

When death met the boot

A thousand fragments

Sundered,

Never to join again

Was it a cry

The final cry

Between life and death

Or a sound

That no one heard.

A carpet of gold

Like dust

Flew with the wind

Far from home

A silent scream

That no one heard.