A withered leaf, a morning's sigh, Hangs limp and frail against the sky. Its verdant hue, a memory's trace, Replaced by brown, a fading grace. The dewdrop clings, a crystal tear, Reflecting light, dispelling fear, Yet cannot stay the final fall, To earth it yields, responding to nature's call.

The sun ascends, a golden eye, Observing life, as seasons die. The brittle stem, a fragile thread, Connects the leaf, now almost dead. A whispered breeze, a...