At the end of the leaf the last drop,
Long after the torrential storm.
I am the leaf, reflecting
On this, the tiny blob.
I was shaken by the gales,
Almost struck by lightning,
Cowed by explosions up high,
Then drenched to the bone.
It happened, I vouch for it,
Then dead the stop. Now
I ponder in my droopy green head:
When to let my blob drop?
Main photo credit: Acagastya via Wikimedia Commons
2 responses to "The last drop"
This really encompasses so many queer lives.. we go through so many storms, shining brightly, trying not to break down..
Great. This is true of every revolution, every struggle.