Yellow Autumn Leaves on the Frosted Glass Bathroom Window

In the background, A yellow blur, breeze-stirred and sun-touched In the foreground, Four yellow holdouts, pressed against the window As if trying to get through Or at least to be noticed and recognised Before they go. They hold on, As if reluctant to depart, Pleading for an audience (even one will do) Urgent almost As if to say, 'we've not much time' (For soon the window will be clear of them) But for now, they call for notice and recognition, Now, when even a whisper of a wind Would shake them and break them – They still have something to say. When green, we didn't notice; Yellow now, they stand out and how As if dancers frozen in a pose, Delicate, graceful –and dying. Winter they are not able for; A breeze now would do them in But for now, They press against the glass and ask - For notice and recognition, Leaving and grieving And almost alone. ..... (Four days later) Gone. Naked branches rule; No more window-pressed yellow leaves, No more yellow blur. Gone. All gone. It's over. This poem too – over.