David A. Berwick

Monday, I was angry with the sun.
It was always in my eyes - no fun.
Tuesday, I was angry with the rain.
Forgot my umbrella - what a pain.
Wednesday, I was angry with the wind.
It blew all the rubbish I had binned.
Thursday, I was angry with the cold
Hurting my bones now that I am old.
Friday, I was angry with the ice.
Slipped on my bum; it was not nice.
Saturday, I was angry with the snow.
Stopped me getting to where I wanted to go.
Sunday, I was angry that I stayed in.
Poor old weather, it cannot win.

The last leaf on the tree, that's me.
Yes, look up high, that's me.
All my friends have been blown down.
They're waiting for me on the ground.

I started in the summer a lovely green.
But way up here I could not be seen.
Now in autumn I'm a lovely brown.
I feel like the only leaf around.

The wind and rain have tried their best.
Yet I'm not quite ready to join the rest.
Even Jack Frost tried little me to freeze.
Tough old me will not be brought to my knees.

Some lovely snow that fell at night
Made me heavy and gave me a fright.
Nature will soon make a call.
Soon I know I must make the fall.

So maybe tomorrow I'll make a leap,
And will all my friends on the ground I shall sleep.