All morn,
This fall day,
Lingered the ever-lingering Leaf
On the ever- withering tree.
So strong, the bond, it can
Possess her, possess him
Trap her, trap him.
This ever-lingering Leaf,
Ever green with youth
Ever lingering on the ever-withering tree.
–
The Sun rose on this
Morning all the same.
Shone its brilliance on this
Leaf
But still it remained
On the ever withering tree.
What has cast its spell
On this lonely lingering
Leaf?
Has the moon stripped away its hope of
Reprieve?
Has the rain seeped into its vein?
Poisonous the seed?
Has the world given up on
This leaf?
–
How it longs for the earth:
Its bounty, its pleasure.
To die in its riches
And make it better.
To change from the
Fall,
To bask in the cull-
Or
Fall
And never reach
For the winds take control
And carries it away to the roaring blue
To be stranded by the bank or
Forgotten on a lonely street
Wrecked from the whirl, laid askew.
But wait! Just think,
It will no longer be fixed on the withering,
Rotten, the forgotten tree.
This ever-lingering Leaf
–
Yet still it sat, hoping, waiting
For the fall or the wind
Clinging, clunging
To this tree
Next to the darkened leaves that are
Comfortably
Content:
Full of nothing
But despair;
Just a life that never existed.
To fall, they forgot to care
And the winds never arrived
Their hope has long since died
–
Rapidly, darkness rears
And slowly this
Leaf,
Evergreen with youth,
Began to change,
Yet no color came,
But a dark, ominous hue
Ran through its vein,
And it found comfort all through.
And it clung, clunging
To the ever-withering tree,
This ever-lingering
Leaf.
–
All morn,
This fall day,
Lingered the ever-lingering Leaf
On the ever-withering tree.
The bond, so strong, it can
Possess her, possess him
Trap her, trap him
Destroy her, destroy him.
All forever remain
On this ever-withering tree,
Those ever-lingering
Leaves…
“Nothing’s planted…”: Arthur Miller, Death of a Salesman, Act 2