A Leaf Poem by Herbert Nehrlich

He lay there,
resting, as they say,
quite comfortably.
His cheek was pushed
against a torn off piece
of flesh, still bleeding.

There was no time,
no will to shudder
in disgust or fear of death.
His fading eyes
did follow
the dance from lofty heights
of one well-wrinkled
Huckleberry leaf.

And when it landed,
silently,
and unobtrusive,
his eyes had closed,
with a small touch
of happiness
and just a hint
of his mischievous smile.
For one last time.