Last Leaf
You
and your leaf-mates
are usually the last to drop,
but the others shrugged off weeks ago.
All that’s left
of the tree
are the bones
and you
clinging
wearing the gray whiskers
of late autumn.
Crystals cartwheel past you
caught in the swirl of
sharp wind fingers
that grab
at your orange jacket.
You know they aren’t serious
about winter
yet.
So you linger
until it is your time.
This poem is copyright (©) Karla Wendelin 2024
About the Writer
Karla Wendelin
A former educator, Karla is a lover of trees, birds, art museums and animals that smile, all of which inspire her poetry. Her published credits include poems in Jack and Jill, High Five, Tyger Tyger, and Two Truths and a Fib Poetry Anthology, edited by Bridget Magee. She enjoys helping students find their poetic voice and sharing techniques with classroom teachers on her website.