The Song of the Fall
By: Tasha Cardwell
The wind blew high and then blew low,
a million dancing leaves cascade.
Except for one with sweat on brow
fought with all his might to remain.
“Come fly with us!” they sang aloud,
catching sun rays on all facets.
They twirled and they spun throughout
the wind: reds, and golds, and oranges.
They freely sang limb after limb;
their journey from home was thrilling.
Then begged and pleaded for him
to join in their carefree living.
Still he hung on, wouldn’t let go.
He could see they were not flying.
Though the breeze flung them to and fro,
Twas clear to him they were dying.