A Child's Last Leaf
By Victor David,
MD
A few years ago when the oak tree was sick
Dad insisted it had to go
she cried out with alarm, "I dance on its limbs,
talk with the squirrels and when the window's open
it whispers to me."
Dad bowed his head, "OK we'll wait."
High in the branches of the oak tree
where larks jostled offspring to wing
in September when she wasn't as well
she cradled herself in the boughs of the tree
remembering Doc's prophecy only
on chemotherapy days.
Her candle burned swiftly
for she wore fine lace and fragrance to smile.
"I won't leave you while the oak tree's got leaves,
I've counted them
It has thousands, it's still very green."
As thousands became hundreds
the leaves matched her skin,
fine porcelain stained yellow reflecting
stress cracks for relief
Then with eyes as sunken diamonds,
she beamed through her windows
carrying sorrows, and uttered,
"the last leaf hasn't fallen"
As she slept one fall night
with the wind's help
that leaf floated freely.
