The Vigilant Leaf of Bedlam Farm


As years before it happens always, in the spring right after thawing,
watched from a tiny bud it grew, all through the summer, for we knew,
when its life neared end of summer, before fall ushered into slumber,
and turned to red it’s changing face, still occupied my walkway place.

The morning breeze now carries on it, thoughts of winters freezing sonnet,
and all become surrendered forage, carried by this wind so torrid,
yet hangs this one on sunlit morning, even though the wind’s still warning,
tomorrow’s winter, frozen water, in which time you’ll fade and falter.

With winter chill it hung in there, still waving though the world is bare,
the morning of the last deep snow, I said “it’s gone” was hid below,
late that afternoon appear, its melted signal “I’m still here,”
Others left me till next summer; mine’s still hanging here in slumber.

Now it’s gone, from lofty perch, this ice was bad; I’ve looked, I searched,
just when I thought ‘twas gone for good, it reappeared, I knew it would,
yes, at my feet, incased in ice, remains my leaf, bright red still nice,
a picture there in natures frame, still shines for me and looks the same.

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