The leaf flutters and floats as it falls
Whispering in the air.
Alone, it stands out
As a brown shadow of life.
I cry
at its loss
Though it is not of my own kind.
It started off
as a bud nested in a branch
Tiny, youthful, green.
Then it grew
As it aged.
Holes appeared where it was sacrificed
To parent butterflies.
It darkened as it toiled
Excreting oxygen into the air
and providing sustenance to the branch it grows upon.
As the tree
grew higher branches
as it flourished above the dutiful leaf,
As the tree
shadowed over the broken leaf
the leaf knew it had to go,
For its unrequited labor had manifested its fruits
and it knew it could contribute no more.
It curled and dried
it wrinkled and shriveled
patches of the leaf started yellowing
and soon it was a valiant shade of brown.
The leaf had done so much
and it had received so little.
As it drifted
a meek wind blew
and two others joined
in its journey down.
Then I realized
the leaf was not alone
there were other leaves grown
off the same tree and dying.
And looking around
I saw many different trees
very much dissimilar from the one I was observing
leaves alike died from them.
Surveying the entire orchard
I had to admit it was beautiful
death was everywhere
The way the leaves did flutter
The way the trees rise from their exploitation.
Even in death
the leaves were loyal to their liege
for after their death and decay
they did return to the tree.
Then I lost interest
in this mundane task
for I had more pressing issues
something regarding "productivity"
or so the boss said.