Dried Leaf

On the half-yellowed page 
the pressed, yellow leaf 
lies sad, tender, and dull— 
a tearful gaze into the distance. 
The stem is so brittle, frail, 
that one almost believes in a feeble dress 
made to cover the body with grace.

The leaf is a song in a minor key, 
an omen for autumn 
like a child who sadly knows 
that they are sick, and death is close, 
so sweet and full of temperate grief— 
The final snow.