A small leaf gets detached
From the branch of a big tree
And looks longingly at those
Swinging together in gentle breeze.
The leaf suffers pangs of separation
Weeps ceaselessly over its fate
Brooding over the cruel fact
That none can stitch her back
To the branch where she belonged.
Painfully, the leaf realizes
She has to turn pale
She has to wither away,
But in her death and destruction
She will make more fertile
The soil on which she has fallen.