The Last Red Tear

One leaf remains atop the tree—
A stalwart guard, it seems to be.
I sense the frigid days ahead,
The winds of winter stirring free.

The leaves that fell and lie around
Begin to stir above the ground.
And yet, that leaf is still at watch—
A sentry keeping winter bound.

That leaf, whose face the winds have scarred,
Remains a watchful, valiant guard.
But it is also bound to fail,
And Winter's door will be unbarred.

When winter's breath tomorrow nears
And frosty air with snow appears,
The leaf will yield to wintry winds,
The last of autumn's crimson tears.