A revision of Elizabeth Jennings' poem--(1926-2001)
They will not go. The leaves insist on staying.
Just six weeks ago, too strong for the wind.
Almost as if they could stay forever,
leaf into brighter green.
What if leaves stayed despite the storms,
if branches bent but held?
Today, kissed by the sun,
the leaves are warm.
I touch one with my hand
though winter is nigh,
the unfallen
quickens my heart.
When will the branches go stark bare?
Will the beauty of leaves really end?
Originally published in Fine Lines