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Mike Whang
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Leaf
I painted a leaf
Bending beneath
Sycamore branches
I wouldn't sleep
Til every crease
Told a story of anguish
But a thousand colors were not enough
So the years were born from months and months
Before the water hit the painted brush
My time, my time had come
Death, like a thief
Crept closely and
Took away my breathing
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How could this be
I'm falling
My hands and feet are freezing
But Sir, my work is far from done
My story has only just begun
I never drew the forest or the glowing sun
My time, my time had come
Young man! You're not what you used to be
Young man! Can you hear my voice beckoning
Young man! Before you paint your changing autumn leaves
Young man! All this time, you've been painting me
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