The Withered Yellow Leaf

Below the rusted park bench,   there was a shimmering hue. I bent down with a trembling hunch,   searching for a clueless clue . In the corner of the sprinkled grass,   I found an yellow leaf . Its texture was as bland as brass ,   it look withered , gripped in terrible grief . As though it waited for a touch like mine ,   it started singing – its dirge to me . I listened to it , the soulful whine ,   I felt the rhythm in my heart, ’twas a song for me . Few ages back , I was up there ,   so very green and mighty fine . I stood on top above them all ,   The proud proud leaf of the ivy vine . The mightiest of winds   tried to blow me away , But I remained firm   and did no more than sway . Alone , above and top of all ,   I stood rigid day after day . I took in lots of food and health   In the hope of putting age at bay . When Autumn came and pushed us ,   I was the last to fall . Proud and mighty I may be   even I did succumb to the nature’s call . Down I fell with the lowly leaves...

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