Brown leaf,
once smooth and green
turned fiery
red, tinged with yellow.
The weather transformed;
you’re weakened,
your grip loosened.
A firm stem turned
to a withered thread.
Crumbled, now you fall.
Crisp and frail.
Drifting slowly,
now thrown by a rapid gust,
swerved past a rigid branch,
dropped to the ground.
Scraping the concrete,
dry and lifeless.
Cut off
to be replaced next spring
by something more radiant,
more youthful.