He twists the stalk
Of the wilting leaf,
Rather mercilessly,
Crushing it almost,
Between his fingers,
Till it comes undone,
And the deed Is done,
The leaf is parted
From the branch, and the tree.

He looks at the leaf
Now held in his hand,
A lifeless remnant –
Dismembered and unwanted;
Before he tosses it
Into the wind,
He crumbles it
Under the force
Of a tight fist.

Nothing that’s worthy remains,
Of the doomed leaf –
Its broken relief
Lies scattered,
On the reluctant ground;
There is no dignity
For the likes of it,
In life, or in its void.