In a world of glass and iron sprawl,
Where trees once stood, now shadows fall.
The air hums cold, a metallic sigh,
Beneath a pale and cloudless sky.

The rivers run in lifeless streams,
Whispering echoes of forgotten dreams.
The mountains, silent, wear no green,
A barren earth, where life has been.

And yet, in a corner where time forgot,
Amidst the rubble, a sacred spot.
A single branch, a fragile crest,
Holds nature’s heart within its chest.

A solitary leaf, defiant, bold,
A story of life it dares to hold.
Its veins, like roots, spread through the past,
A whisper of what was meant to last.

It trembles softly in poisoned air,
A lonely relic, beyond repair.
Its green now faded, a muted hue,
A final witness to all we knew.

The crowds below do not look twice,
Eyes fixed on screens, hearts turned to ice.
Progress, they say, is worth the cost,
Blind to the beauty they have lost.

But one child sees, her gaze alight,
She feels the leaf’s enduring fight.
With gentle hands, she guards its soul,
A tiny act to mend the whole.

She speaks to the winds, her voice a plea,
“Spare this last breath of memory.
Let it remind us of roots and rain,
Of forests singing life’s refrain.”

But time is cruel, its grip is tight,
The leaf succumbs to the endless night.
It falls, a flutter, soft and slow,
The final tear the earth will know.

And yet, as darkness claims the scene,
A spark ignites where it has been.
A seed drops quietly to the ground,
A second chance where hope is found.

Through ash and stone, the seed takes root,
Defying silence with its shoot.
Though man may forget, the earth forgives,
For as long as seeds endure, life lives.

.    .    .