Like the previous poem I posted, this one was originally published in The Tonic, the old literary journal at my university.
The yield sign yellow
has given way to a battle of orange and red.
In the end they concede
neither can win and the
truce reveals the lifeless
husk it wears
on its graceful fall from grace.
Winter breath disguises
the motives of a fallen leaf
that desperately wants
to change the world.
It tries so hard to not pass on
while drifting to the ground.
The pile of dead reaches to the skies.
The ageless giants mourn their young and wait
until countless others rise to take their place.