On a thick-brown branch,
Amongst many green veined drops,
Rose a little leaf.
With happiness and joy all around,
For no tree was dull and brown.
The sun gave it light,
The water gave it the will to fight,
The old folks showed it the way of life,
The soil nourished it with all its might.
Despite the hail, storm and wind,
The leaf did not move an inch,
Laughing and playing all day long,
With the little birds singing pretty songs.
As time went by,
The young leaf started to grow old,
From bright and green,
To dull and wan,
Poor little leaf later fell down.
Little kids stepped on it,
To hear the crunch and crackle,
But left in dismay,
As the crunch was no more than of moist hay.
Old is gold,
But the brown and frail leaf,
Was not even worthy of being sold.
The leaf once healthy and happy,
Was worthless now.
Being stepped on all day,
Then being thrown in the trash the next day,
Poor little leaf had never felt this way.
Then came another day,
On the same thick branch,
Rose another leaf,
Unaware of all it was going to face.
History repeated itself,
Another one was hurt the same way,
Was it the branch?
Or was it just nature's way?
The answer to this question,
Is a story for another day.
Ps: This poem shows that, sometimes we are not the ones at fault. Maybe it's just the way of the word. Some things are meant to happen. There are things that we all have to go through. This poem also tells about death.
Your welcome to drop your interpretations of this poem. I will add them to the post note