The leaves below

An antiwar poem

Shivering, a sienna leaf holds 
     despite the first snow.
The last remaining on
     this majestic Maple.

Hoping to warn the spring buds,
     it remains.
But the Maple lets go,
     full from slurping the leaf —
     until it burned.

Floundering as it falls,
     it slams into the snow.
Heard by no one.

The Maple moves on,
     for in the spring,
     the new recruits —
     won't see the leaves below.

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