I Am the Last Leaf

November 21, 2007
By Amara Vogt, Alexandria, VA

The cold breeze whistles through the bare maple trees, but I hang on.

I am the last leaf on the tree, no one to comfort me, to protect me from the harsh wind.

The grip on my mother is slowly getting weaker.

The first signs of winter are here.

The days of sunlight grow shorter, the air sharper.

I shiver with cold.

Snowflakes lazily drop out of the sky.

The beautiful ice crystals cover my brothers and sisters with a white blanket.

The wind swirls the snow into drifts.
Huge white mounds just like sleeping polar bears.

I struggle to stay awake.

I am falling.

At last, I have made my journey.

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