Old Soldiers

The leaves remain.
Through rain.
Wind.
The first snows.
They remain.
The last color,
defiant of season’s change,
of autumn’s mold
and winter’s approach,
rejecting science,
rejecting time,
refusing to die completely,
like old soldiers, they wear their colors,
proud,
fragile,
precious.

About this poem

The poem I wish I had written for Veteran’s day.

The picture was taken up in the quarry across from my house.

Tom