**Not the First, but the Last Leaf**
I am not the first, nor will I be the last,
A leaf upon the tree, my time now passed.
Yet in my fading, I leave a trace,
A memory etched upon time’s face.
Though others came before, their vibrant hue,
Now withered and gone, their presence withdrew.
But I, the lone survivor, cling to the bough,
A testament to seasons’ ceaseless flow.
No longer green and supple, my veins now frail,
Yet in my autumn garb, I tell a tale.
Of summers past and winters endured,
Of life’s journey, both harsh and pure.
For in this final act, I find my worth,
Not as the first to bloom, but last to birth.
A beacon of resilience in nature’s play,
A reminder that even in decay,
There lies a beauty, a lesson to learn,
That in the end, it’s not the first we discern.
But the last leaf standing, weathered and old,
Whose tale of perseverance will forever be told.
