The Last Autumn Leaf
By John Herlihy

It is the last of its kind,
With nothing special on its mind.
There are none other left;
but there is no need to feel bereft.
When nature sounds its call,
The entire world will stumble and fall.

Alone, with its forces assembling,
In the wind, trembling,
Once a verdant green,
Now looks away, crimson,
Ablaze with color,
Resembling none other.

Dressed for the occasion,
It needs no persuasion,
Its mission to fulfill,
Dying becomes its final thrill.
It takes a look around,
Then gazes down upon the ground.

Melancholy and forlorn,
As it begins to fall, a single horn
Sounds tribute from the breath of wind.
Church bells toll as if they know;
Children play under trees as if they don’t know.
No plumage on the tree left to fall.

The last autumn leaf spindles slowly down,
As it quietly waves farewell to everyone around.