The Fallen Leaf
David Hwang

When the last bird has flown away
Slowly the leaves begin to rain
Like the drizzly ditzy dew of a morning May
And dances dangling down its lane.

Now the season has come and gone
When in dismay it falls with a new rise.
The tree, naked and cold, shivers alone
Waiting for the last thread to find its mise.

Touched by the last breath of savor
Silence speaks unwillingly
As it follows the course of the river
And empties into the sea.