Leaf

Innate link of the tree

Never imagined her spirit free

With stems and roots, considering all her home

Developed a comfort zone

Touch of dewdrops on the cold morning of the winter

 Shaking on a twig in the hot evening of the summer

 Drying with fellow leaves in the autumn

Experiencing greenery in the spring 

Abrupt blowing of the ghastly gales

Which tore her apart

An identity crisis for all

To which tree that leaf belonged

Not recognized when she fell down

As everything dashed to the ground

Separated from her coterie

Like broken beads of the rosary

Mixed in the mortar of mighty earth

With no melancholy and no mirth

Uprooted and lost in the wood

And forgotten for good