The stubborn little Maple leaf
held on when all its fellows fled.
They carpeting the ground beneath
a vast lushscape of gold and red.

Leaf held on thru wind and rain,
the last survivor of its race.
Leaf held on past Turkey day
maintaining there its pride of place.

Then Leaf grew lonely, I suppose-
Like the summer’s final rose.
Leaf envied then the flakes of snow
Who fluttered past to their repose.

Then, just as winter came to call,
Leaf felt a tug and then a snap.
Flying, tumbling on the winds
Fall to Earth. Fade to black.