The dried leaves of September

 

And the lasts of the dried leaves
bid farewell
to its branches
as the vicious windstorm teases
with it; impish,
unforgiving,
torturing every inch of its existence–
overwhelming
every ounce of its being.
It is humming
a burning melody
of slow death as the leaves finally
surrendered to gravity.
There, the tree and its huge branches,
standing idly;
once a picture of passionate vows locked
in perpetuity
is now reduced to a wretched swathe
of uncertainty.
I had cried long enough.

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