A single leaf, a golden flame,
Clings to the branch, alone, untamed.
Others dance in the wind’s soft song,
But this one lingered, holding on.

The sky grows still, a breathless hush,
The world wrapped in November’s blush.
The down it drifts, a whispered sigh,
A quiet end beneath the sky.

No fanfare meets its final fight,
Just fading light, and calming white.