by Selma Meerbaum-Eisinger
On the half-yellowed page
the pressed, yellow leaf
lies sad, tender, and dull—
a tearful gaze into the distance.
The stem is so brittle, frail,
that one almost believes in a feeble dress
made to cover the body with grace.
The leaf is a song in a minor key,
an omen for autumn
like a child who sadly knows
that they are sick, and death is close,
so sweet and full of temperate grief—
The final snow.
Copyright ©:Translated from the German by Carlie Hoffman
Last updated January 10, 2023