POEM | A Dead Leaf's Iron Grasp

I’ve always wondered why some leaves never fall,

No wind can seem to wrench.

Brown, withered, and dry,

They cling to the last breath of a dormant branch.

By will or by mistake these leaves withstand it all,

Rain, sleet, wind, and snow.

Not a single thing will make it fall,

Is it a grasp or a trap that makes them never let go.

In the whispering breeze, secrets they enthrall,

Stories etched in veins, tales of time untold.

Stubborn resilience in a world somehow stalled,

As seasons dance, and their destiny unfolds.

With hues of amber, in autumn's soft call,

A mosaic of memories, a silent tableau.

Yet, why do they linger, refusing to forestall?

A riddle of nature, in a wintry shadow.

Is it a longing, a yearning for the spring's recall,

Or a pledge to endure, an oath to uphold?

Each leaf, a testament, standing tall,

Against the hands of time, a story to be extolled.

Through the chill of night and the daylight's sprawl,

They endure, tenacious, steadfast, bold.

A testament to strength, to tenacity installed,

In the heart of the leaf, a narrative unfolds.