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 ,
who were happy in falling together .
They welcomed me with warmth and love ,
but the cruel wind pushed me hither.
I did see the mighty leaf ,
its skin so wet with a tear ,
“Oh ! Humble man” ,it pleaded me,
I want to be near to my dear .
I placed him in the yellow pile ,
where he joined the jubilation I could hear .
The pressing weight lifted from my heart
and I knew my freedom was near
I walked back to my little grandson’s home ,
abating all my fear