Frozen

Green.
That’s how it started,
when life was new,
when spring arrived.

But spring became summer.
Heat and drought
stole the color.
And broke the stem.

Wind came and chilled
the air and the ground.
Scattering, shattering,
forcing it to go away.

To a new home, or place,
down on the ground.
Unprotected, a victim,
to the glass cold hold

Of the ice.

Even if the sun comes,
even if the ice melts,
even if the leaf thaws,
it’ll never go back

to the life it knew.

It’ll never go back,
onto the branch.
It’ll never grow back, 
onto the tree.

It’ll never again,
be green.