On a cold autumn day

there was a leaf that fell.

To icy wind it was prey,

rising on a western swell.

It twisted and twirled

against the smeared gray sky

Where once green unfurled,

has now withered and died.

It flutters on past,

with no purpose or keen.

Servant to winds fast

to lands of green.

When at last it completed its quest,

on the brown earth it came to rest.