This poem is written by a member of the Creative Writing Team, unchanged by teachers.
I shiver in the cold as a fall breeze makes me shake.
My friends are all sick, noses red and starting to break.
I however, cling to life, determined not to fall and die.
Trees around me are old and bare, except for the one standing tall and fair.
A mighty pine, green with life, living through winter and fall alike.
Glistening branches strong and bold, immune to winters stubborn cold.
Living through the time that everyone dreads.
Autumn is coming, and the leaves are turning red.
All at once, the sky turns grey, rain pours down and ends the day.
Night is coming, light is fading, my friends around me cold and shaking.
A caterpillar, thin and warm, inches its way up my arm, curling up and resting there,
clinging to my skin so bare.
I hang on still, standing tall, unlike others in the season of fall.
I try to last, but lose my grip, falling along with those who slipped.
Trying to remember the warm spring days, and how it all had gone away.
When I land amongst my friends, new ones falling and others dead,
I watch the sun rise and shine, bringing with it children that whine.
Children laughing, jumping, and crashing, killing those that I’ve lived within the oak next
to that white pine.
That very tree that I called mine.
Now my edges are curling, and I am turning into a part of a child’s design.
Soon I’ll be part of a pile, getting stepped on and being climbed.
All because I lost my grip,
On that very tree that I called mine.
The life of a leaf on a great oak tree.
Oh, how I wish I was part of the pine!
Anonymous, Grade 8