A leaf of Yore
fell upon
the cold old sulken ground.
Fallen mild
upon the wild,
fresh grass, a soften sound.
This leaf of Yore
was once the means of life for this young tree.
'Twas bright and green, gave hope and scene,
the way it was meant to be.
This leaf of Yore
is forgotten now,
it's brown, a blend of ground.
No more to be,
waving free
'cause by death it is found and bound.
Oh, Leaf of Yore,
though I know you not,
yet still you were there for a reason.
Because next year
I know that this tree matures
and fruit will grow in season.
S.W. Clark
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-leaf-of-yore/
