Voices on the Wind
Voices on Waiting
The Last Leaf
by Mike Bayles
The last leaf
crisp and crimson of a maple tree in the yard
waves in a crisp November wind.
It waits to fall
To be consumed by the ground,
While a cold wind sings a song
The riches of a nearby cornfield
just picked lies
in shadows cast by the setting sun
spread across the farm.
The Harvest moon
rises to the east.
A father rests in bed,
weary but proud,
the oldest son bedside.
They engage in solemn conversations
about the passage of many seasons
and the many lives they’ve known,
the promise of a cold winter to come.