Twisting perilously in the biting wind
the last golden leaf clings
to a barren branch.
A forceful gust
pulls the leaf from it's pointed twig.
It waves goodbye
as it spins, helter skelter,
to the ground.
Lost among so many harvest-colored leaves,
cartwheeling in the wind.

11/13/2006

Author's Note: I'm noticing a trend in my poetry. I love to describe Autumn.

Posted on 11/13/2006
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