Survivors Song. 

Beauty does not diminish in the last days of fall.
Far from it. Colors grow brighter
and are more precious than ever

as winds and storms strip the leaves,
leaving only the survivors,
those last few who stay for the last dance,

who understand how strong, how sexy, how brilliant and beautiful
persistence can be. How the last leaves on the tree
are the most beloved.

So sing with me. Sing for the battered. Sing for the cursed.
Sing loud and long for the reviled.
Sing prayers and praise. Sing love songs. Sing hymns and dirges

and slow, heart wrenching blues.
Sing, more than anything,
truth,

that your beauty is not classic.
It is more than that. It is your refusal to be anything else,
but the last leaf on the tree.

About this poem. 

There are people in my life right now who are standing up for who and what they are. They are brave. And they are beautiful. And they are deeply, deeply, loved.

Tom