Inspired by The Last Leaf-a poetry
The morning was cold,
She laid still in her bed,
Her skin turned whiter than the purest milk.
She knew the last leaf would soon fall by,
Withered and touched by the winds that passed by,
Her mind filled with happiness
Of the world still untouched by the sorrows of life.
She waited as tears roll,
Softly and gently , she wiped as the droplets fall,
She noticed the leaf struggling to cling on.
A painter of an old charm
Slept magnificently on the whitest snow,
The colours slept on the brushes that flowed,
Over the leaf that hung on the branch she saw.
He knew , his paint to be his farewell
To the world that had come to an end,
His painting borne a life,
That stared the paint that fluttered.
The last leaf of new expectations,
Concluded a painter of love and passion.