Poetry

FACING THE FALL

I am the last leaf on the tree, forgotten.
All my friends have fallen.
Only I am left, with memories
Of growing green in Spring,
Basking on a beech in sunshine,
Fighting phantoms in the wind,
And whispering words of carefree chatter.
I have watched the last dances and leaps
And swoops and spins and curls,
Every death different,
More alive than in life.
God give me strength
To execute a backward three-and-a-half somersault pike with two-and-a-half twists
And really give the bastards something to think about.