1
The long-awaited storm is here,
But in it’s lull the light is clear.
The snowy carpet still is white
And brings my needy soul delight.

2
Out in the yard a patient tree
Stands ramrod straight for all to see,
All bare but for six stubborn leaves
That huddle closer than six thieves.

3
Four on one twig, two on another,
A common branch, a common mother,
Somehow they've managed to survive,
These brothers, though they do not thrive,

4
But cling tenaciously, and form
A reproof to the New Year’s storm,
Not quite to decorate the tree,
But to remind of what will be.

5
No longer green, but not yet dust,
They cling to time and hope, and trust
Their vigil will not be in vain.
I’m sure these leaves do not complain!

6
I, in my study, making notes
On what this miracle denotes,
Wonder out loud why, though I’m warm,
I feel the chill of my own storm,

7
Why gusts of passion swirl around
And try to hurl me to the ground,
What role I play that I survive,
What purpose keeps me still alive!

8
I’m not yet brown, and yet not green,
My tree is nebulous, unseen.
And soon I shall be blown away
And pulverized to common clay.

9
I too have brothers close at hand.
We are a formidable band,
Prepared to meet whatever blast
Comes from the future - or the past!

10
But I doubt if we shall last as long
As these six leaves whose grip is strong.
Something tells us “Stay alive!”
But, when we die, will we survive?