FROSTED LEAF
On the cold ground lay a frosted
filigreed leaf,
Once red in colour, often trodden on
so came to grief.
Yet in crushed death there seemed
a special beauty,
As it lay in glory at the root of it’s
mother tree.
The serrated edge kissed with silver
frost so bright,
Each vein embossed with a thread
of sparkling light
Enhanced in it’s loveliness by the
still green grass,
I wonder who else noticed it as
they did pass?
I will try, when I get home, to paint
that precious thing,
And maybe to that leaf a longer
mortality bring.

(Millicent) Ann Margetson October 8, 2003